


The Fox of Marseille

by GwennhaduBug



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: ALSO post-relationship for Marinette and Adrien, Adult Themes, Chat Rouge bros, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Lovers while secretly enemies, Secret Identity, Strong Language, Violence, everyone is bi, french slang, heavy irony, love square bros, post-reveal for Marinette and Adrien, strangers AU, there's some semi-intentional poly vibes in this too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-06-12 05:13:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 121,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15332541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GwennhaduBug/pseuds/GwennhaduBug
Summary: Alya Césaire is new to Paris, but she isn't new to the life of the Miraculous. In her dangerous hometown of Marseille, Rena Rouge was the crime fighting vigilante who wasn't afraid of breaking a few bones or crushing a few spirits to keep her city safer. So she doesn't mesh well with the Sweetheart Superhero of Paris, Ladybug, and her softer ways of keeping the city clean from disaster- and the feeling of hate is mutual. But out of her costume, Alya is quickly charmed by the beautiful, kind Marinette. She falls hard and fast and thinks she may have finally found her match.With a frustrating but promising new job, old and new friends, and a cute new love interest, Alya may have found home in Paris. If only it wasn't for that annoying Ladybug...





	1. The Only Anti-Hero of France

**Author's Note:**

  * For [astrangetypeofchemistry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrangetypeofchemistry/gifts).



> The Alternate Universe of this story is pretty dang close to our canon, except that Alya was not any kind of part of the Paris adventures they had as kids. So you can assume everything that happened in Miraculous has happened, except for anything relating to Rena Rouge and Alya Césaire. The story takes place in 2018 with all our characters as adults in their mid-twenties.
> 
> Additionally, I watch Miraculous Ladybug in French and watch it largely FOR the very French-ness of the show, so I am writing this in English but as if the characters are speaking French. That means I will slip in French idioms, slang, or other non-translatable details/culture notes. I will have hover text in-story and footnotes in my end notes to explain any of that. I try to make it legible if you just want to skip the explanations. (This is exactly what I did for my other multi-chapter fic.) Please note hover text doesn't work on mobile :'(
> 
> One last thing- this story is Mature because it includes some descriptions of violence (I try not to go overboard), lots of adult language in both French and English, and discussions of adult content/sexual activity. Nothing is explicit, but please make sure you are reading at your appropriate maturity and comfort level.
> 
> Updates will be about once a month. I will try to speed up the schedule once the story is complete on my end.

\--i--

“Woy, this place is so much smaller than it looked online,” Alya muttered under her breath. She set down her first cardboard box onto the wood floor, put her hands on her hips, and glanced around the new studio apartment. “And it looked pretty damn small online.”

A tiny, high-pitched voice answered, “Rent won’t get you as far in Paris as it did in Marseille. We knew that.” Trixx, the fox kwami, flitted around Alya’s head and looked around the apartment. They could see every corner from where they stood in the doorway. Alya nervously glanced at the exposed pipes in the kitchen (not that Alya really considered it a kitchen. Her mother had cried for nearly an hour when Alya showed her pictures of the combination oven stove, old refrigerator, single sink, and tiny counter that passed as a ‘kitchen’). Then she looked over at the bathroom, exposed with its door open to reveal cracking paint and plumbing that was probably nearly as old as Paris itself. “We can spruce this place up, though!” Trixx offered.

“It’s not like we have a choice,” Alya laughed. She rubbed her hands together and tied her plaid shirt a little higher above her belly. “Alright, Trixx. Do you mind staying in here and unpacking while I bring up more boxes? Let’s make this hovel a home.”

“I’ll open a window!” Trixx called out, buzzing over to the window on an empty wall. They pushed the blinds aside to reveal a beautiful view... of the brick wall next door. “Oh. Well. At least you _have_ a window. That place you interviewed for in the fifth didn’t even have one.”

“Yeah, I’ve got a window, youpi,” [1] Alya grumbled sarcastically. She headed down the stairs, repeating to herself her mantra of how great this would be- how much bigger of a name 'Le Parisien' would be on her journalism portfolio, how much of a pay raise she was getting, and what an incredible chance she would have to report on truly important matters. Paris was the hub of life for all of France, most of Europe, and sometimes the entire world! Think of the people she could meet, the stories she could tell…! Who needed an ocean view and Mediterranean weather year round when she had history to write?

Once Alya and the movers had finally put all the furniture in the studio apartment, she shut the door and transformed. Rena Rouge had more than enough strength to put her bed, couch, kitchen table, a few chairs, and her writing desk where Alya needed them. Although the already small studio now looked even more cramped. She released her transformation and chattered with Trixx as the two of them unpacked the rest of her things. It took the better part of a day, but since Alya travelled light, she was satisfied by the time there was a knock on the door. Trixx flew to hide in a cardboard box while Alya squealed in hungry delight. She wiggled her butt as she danced the entire way to open the door for her pizza.

“Excellent, I am _starved_ ,” Alya told the pizza man.

He looked into her apartment and smiled conversationally. “Your accent. I can’t quite place it...you almost sound Martinican. But...not quite.”

Alya took the pizza and nodded. “I grew up on Martinique, but I moved to Marseille when I was in collège.[2] I lived there until, uh, yesterday! That’s probably what you’re hearing.”

He grinned. “Ahhh, of course! Welcome to Paris, Mademoiselle!” He tipped his hat politely. “I thought it might be a Provence accent,” he said, looking proud. _He’s lying_ , Alya’s fox instincts sniffed out. “I’m sure you’ll like it here.” Then, he took her thanks and her payment and headed down the old stairs of the building. Alya already had a slice in hand as she shut the door behind her, thoughts on her old home.

“We should put up things from home,” Alya told Trixx through a mouthful of pizza. “Pictures of Marseille, articles about Rena Rouge...obviously our regular decorations, but I don’t want to forget where I’m from.”

“Alya, you could never forget where you’re from. Besides, I won’t let you! We met in Marseille.” They flew over and nuzzled Alya’s chin from the tip of their nose to the end of their tail. “You were so great for that city.”

“I was pretty damn great, wasn’t I?” Alya asked with a cheeky grin. She kicked open a box labelled ‘Articles’ and after wiping one greasy hand off on her already sweaty shirt, she picked up the one on top. ‘ _Rena Rouge, Vigilante of the Port, Captures Murderer’_ \- one of the Rena Rouge articles that Alya hadn’t written herself. She smiled at her picture. The photographer had caught her looking over her shoulder, draped in shadow, with a ferocious look in her eyes and the light glittering off a fang. One boot pointed towards the camera and her tail was wrapped around her body from the rotation of her spin. The murderer wasn’t anywhere in the picture, but it wasn’t like Marseille minded. It was much more rare to get a photograph of their fox savior.

She pinned it up to the wall next to her book case and pulled out a different one. A Sunday edition with color photos. ‘ _Rena Rouge leaves a bloody trail...criminals beware!’_ The largest picture was artful- a cropped portion of a chalk outline and bloody paw prints from her boot. The second picture showed Rena delivering a roundhouse kick to a man she still remembered...the serial rapist who honestly deserved even worse than he got. And that included the emotional trauma she’d left him by summoning an illusion of every girl he’d ever hurt, staring down at him with their own weapons, set to the soundtrack of the screams of his mother.

Alya tacked up the next article with a chuckle. ‘ _Who is the Fox of the Night? What is she hiding?’_ This one had only a drawing of Rena’s face. Her skin was shaded particularly dark and lips were particularly lucious. It was a damn good drawing and a very flattering likeness...from someone who had probably only seen flashes of Rena. She worked in the shadows, she belonged in the shadows, and she stayed that way. The criminals of Marseille all had it out for Rena and the one and only time she’d made an effort to appear at a public ceremony, two different gangs had tried to assassinate her. There had been gunfire, injuries, and certainly years of emotional scarring for the school children receiving awards for their community service.

The article about _that_ day wasn’t going on her wall.

She skimmed over her next article before posting it as well. Alya had written this one herself for La Marseillaise. _‘The Power of an Illusion: Rena Rouge’s most Dangerous Weapon_ ’. As the reporter, Alya had gotten to pick her own photo and chose what remained one of her favorite Rena Rouge candid shots. She was pouncing through the air while playing her flute, but the light of her miraculous hadn’t quite obstructed the image yet. Her tail trailed below her and on the ground, her victim was already cowering in fear. But the best part was her flute. All of Marseille knew that when Rena put the flute to her lips, their world was about to look entirely different. She used it often to confuse or terrorize her victims before delivering incapacitating physical blows. As if hinting at its own dual usage, the end of the flute shimmered with blood from an attack just minutes before.

Alya had interviewed Rena’s victims before from jail. Honestly, those were her least favorite assignments. It was more than a little unnerving to see a hardened criminal look at you with thoughts of murder in their eye, swearing to get their revenge and often detailing, usually graphically, all the ways they planned to destroy your alter-ego. But she guarded her identity closer than any secret Alya ever held, and so La Marseillaise had no reason to _not_ give Alya those interviews. The only thing she did enjoy about them was hearing which parts of a battle really threw the criminals off the most. And invariably, it was always the magic illusion. Super-powered punches, kicks, and even bloody bites from a girl dressed as a fox didn’t seem to haunt them (even if bruises told otherwise) the way that her illusions did. Half of all Alya’s interviews were conducted in the psych ward of the jail.

And truth be told, Alya had mixed feelings about that. She never once doubted that she was doing the right thing for Marseille. Ever since Alya found the foxtail necklace back in lycée[2], crime had steadily dropped in what was still one of the seedier, more dangerous cities in France. The people she put away always deserved to serve their time. But the five criminals she’d killed (almost always out of self defense) did wage that emotional revenge on Alya’s psyche. Nightmares were constant. Alya avoided certain streets. She studied up on magical protections, wore vodou charms, owned and maintained an altar, and even prayed for their souls. Alya knew how just protecting herself from some of the most horrible people to walk the coast of France haunted her. So she often wondered just how long her more traumatic illusions could torture the criminal victims as well.

Sometimes, she doubted they deserved all of that.

But still, Rena Rouge was part of Alya. A part that Alya was proud of, like her heritage, or her family, or her talents as a writer. All of the things she loved had their flaws. And as Alya tacked up yet another Rena Rouge article, this one from a newspaper with the smallest circulation yet (a collège of 1,500 students), she felt that love once more. She read the title out loud, ‘ _Why We Love Rena Rouge- our Protector!_ ’ and grinned at the full-page collage of children’s drawings of Rena; some much better than others. The article started at the page’s bottom and continued on the other side, so Alya made sure to pin it carefully in the center of all the more professional works. This one she liked to pull down and reread.

“They’ll miss you,” Trixx told Alya. Her kwami had been rereading the articles as well.

“They’ll be fine. I left Guillaume with the Ram Miraculous. He will take care of them for us.”

Trixx tapped Alya’s own article, specifically the name of the newspaper, and added, “ _They’ll_ miss you, too.”

At that, Alya actually grinned. “Yeah, those fuckers better miss me! Jean-Claude gave me some nonsense about how I can still write for La Marseillaise from Paris, but I told him if I’m not getting paid Le Parisien paychecks, it ain’t happening.” She laughed and picked up another slice of pizza. “I mean, I probably will write a _few_ articles long distance for them. Before I left we had a real conversation about being a Paris Correspondent, or working for their online version or something. But I want to get confident and comfortable with the new paper before I do that. My first day is tomorrow, so hopefully that won’t take too long.”

“You’re jumping right in. Good for you, Alya! And should we be warning the criminal streets of Paris, too?”

Alya smiled. She collapsed onto the couch and draped a leg over the arm. “I guess that depends on how quick they piss me off.”

\--ii--

Marinette Dupain-Cheng sprawled on the floor of her apartment, knees bent and legs kicking behind her, humming along to her favorite Classic Jagged Stone CD. The CD had come out while she was in lycée, over ten years ago, but it was still one of her favorites. Her ladybug kwami sat on the sole of Marinette’s slippers, also humming to the music as she rode the swinging foot back and forth. Marinette was so involved in her latest sketch that she didn’t notice the apartment door open until she heard the yelp and loud crash behind her.

Marinette sat up immediately, squealing in surprise. In front of her and now also sprawled on the floor (albeit much less intentionally than Marinette), was her roommate. “Adrien, you scared me!”

Adrien looked up, glaring at Marinette. “Marinette, I tripped over your bolt of fabric and fell face-first and probably have carpet burn all over my face and _you’re_ mad at _me_?”

“Oh, gosh, you’re right,” Marinette said apologetically. She stood and helped Adrien stand, both of them ignoring Adrien’s kwami as he cackled in the background. “Sorry, Chaton. I just got so…”

“Into your designs. I know how it is.” He seethed in slight pain and rubbed a knee, but threw Marinette an understanding smile. “But if you’ll try to remember to pick up after yourself when you’re testing fabrics, I’ll try to remember that this place gets boobytrapped from time to time by sewing supplies.”

“I’m sorry, still. I know I keep saying I’m going to keep my work at the studio, but…”

“My Lady, I don’t think any of us have ever believed that. Have you ever just done the minimum expectation? In anything? Ever?” Adrien chuckled and affectionately ruffled Marinette’s fringe. “I guess you didn’t remember that you’re on dinner duty tonight, then?” Marinette’s face paled and she swore. Adrien just rolled his eyes and laughed. “God, living with you is definitely different than living at home. I’ll give you that.” He walked over to the fridge and opened it, fishing around for some leftovers. “It’s still cleaner than rooming with Nino, though.”

“It’s _much_ better than rooming with Nino!” Plagg agreed, floating to the top of the fridge. “Tikki’s here and I don’t have to live in a stupid trash can! We should have moved in with Tikki and Marinette years ago.”

The kwami in question shook her head. “Plagg, you know that was a bad idea. Ladybug and Chat Noir had to work out all the details of their relationship first. It would have been terrible for Marinette and Adrien to live together during the years they were trying to date!”

“I think you mean it would have been _hilarious,_ ” Plagg countered. “Do you remember when Marinette started dating that fencer girl? The one Adrien had a crush on, too?” He fell backwards with laughter. “Can you imagine _living_ with that? Oh, Tikki. We missed out on the chance of a human’s lifetime!”

Adrien looked up from the fridge at the black kwami legs dangling above him. “They only dated for a couple of months, Plagg.”

Plagg leaned down, grinning wide at Adrien. “And you were such a mess the whole time! Ahahaha! We can laugh about it now, Adrien. It was hilarious!”

Marinette laughed very quietly, leaning to look in the fridge with Adrien. “I mean, it does make a great story for parties. Your ex-girlfriend, coming out as bi through dating the girl you were about to ask out? I think Nino’s stolen that story more than once as an ice-breaker. It’s even better that you handled it so well. You know...eventually.” She sniggered again and pointed out a glass container full of leftover paella. “There’s enough in that one for both of us. I’ll make dinner tomorrow, I promise.”

“Mmhmm. You finish whatever you’re designing before you make me any promises, Buginette,” Adrien said. He pulled out the dish of paella and lightly tapped her on the head before carrying it over to the microwave. “What are you making anyway?”

“Suit-jackets.”

“You’re making suit-jackets for dinner?”

“No! You dumb cat,” Marinette laughed, “I’m making suit-jackets for our semi-formal line. Different kinds with different types of fabric. I want to see how rayon would-” Marinette was cut off by a loud ringing. Automatically, she looked at the microwave, surprised that it was potentially already done reheating their dinner. But then realized, “Oh, that’s the TVi safety alert! Adrien, put dinner back in the fridge. Tikki, grab my phone!”

Both of Marinette’s closest friends rushed to their duty, Plagg deciding that meant it was _his_ duty to steal cheese from the open fridge while Marinette rushed to see the news. There was a fire just three arrondissements away, quickly consuming an entire building. Adrien looked over her shoulder and in chorus, they called for their kwamis and said, “Transform me!”

In a flash of light, Ladybug and Chat Noir stood in their shared apartment. They nodded at one another before opening the window that dropped into an alley. Chat Noir jumped straight down, landing on his hands and feet while Ladybug bounced out her window and used the walls to kick her way safely to the roof next to her. “Hey, chaton!” Ladybug called down to him, “What are you doing down there? Get up here so we can get a move on!”

“Don’t get your wings in a twist, My Lady,” Chat shouted back. He pounced and scampered up the brick wall to her side, looking Ladybug up and down once before they left. Both of their suits had a mature feel to them; Ladybug’s was black from the chest down to her mid-thigh, with her neck and top of the chest, arms, and legs coated in red with black spots. She sported thick panels on her back that Marinette and Tikki had turned to wings, suitable for gliding between tosses of her yo-yo. Holding her hair in a tight bun, Ladybug’s ribbon curled into antenna, often hanging limp to the side of her head. Chat Noir’s black leather suit had neon green piping along the seams, a neon green interior just hinted from his collard, and silver tips on his gloves to match his toe and tail, with a small bell tugging right at his sternum. And once both had their feet on the roof, they took off through the sky to the billowing smoke that grew closer and closer.

Ladybug and Chat Noir stopped on the roof right next to the burning building. Heat licked at Ladybug’s face while she surveyed the area. The fire trucks were there with firemen hosing into the windows, a crowd gathered around the edges of safety cones to watch. It looked pretty standard, but they would have to move quickly. With a nod, Ladybug and Chat Noir leapt over the crowd and to the burning building.

Taking care of a fire was fairly simple for the heroes. Ladybug called on her lucky charm almost immediately, thrilled to get scuba gear. She didn’t need to use Ladybug Vision to understand how to use that! She strapped the oxygen tank and mask on and ran into the burning building, leaving Chat to carry the wetsuit over his back. The firefighters were in the building as well and pointed their familiar heroes to rooms that need the most careful attention. The heroes managed to get everyone out of the building making smart use of sharing Ladybug’s oxygen, smothering flames that leapt into their path with the wet suit, and even Chat Noir’s cataclysm to break through a collapsed wall to the people trapped behind.

Once outside, Ladybug and Chat Noir herded their civilians to the tallest of the firefighters, standing with nervous civilians, wearing blankets and faces coated in ash. The civilians lit up and shrieked in delight upon seeing Chat Noir and Ladybug, so Chat quickly led their victims to join their families, Ladybug closely behind. “Is this everyone?” Ladybug asked the chief over the roar of the fire.

“That’s it. Your turn to do your thing, Madame Ladybug,” the chief said, nodding firmly.

Ladybug nodded back. Her earrings were ringing with a two-minute warning as she put a hand out for her lucky charm. “Chat, the suit, please.” He handed her the wetsuit and Ladybug looked down at the charm in her hands. She had the tank, the mask, the suit. Ladybug narrowed her eyes. With the building still crackling and roaring behind them, Chat looked at her with an impish grin. “The _entire suit_ , matou. [3] The flippers?”

“Aww, but they’re just my size!” Chat complained, even as he pulled the flippers off of his feet and handed them to her. “Red with black polka-dots really accentuates my big feet. And you know what they say about cats with big feet…”

“They get stepped on?” Ladybug asked. She threw the entire Lucky Charm into the air and a miraculous swarm of ladybugs surrounding the entire crumbling building. When the bugs disappeared, the air cleared and the building stood, fully restored. “Bien Joué!” Ladybug called out, putting out a fist for Chat Noir. The surrounding crowd erupted in applause while the fire chief came to shake Ladybug’s hand.

“Madame Ladybug! Monsieur Chat Noir! We thank you, again and again. I know you can’t possibly be everywhere at once, but the good you do for our city is just...well...miraculous!”

Ladybug smiled, holding his hand with both of hers as they shook them once more. “It’s our pleasure. We just give the city back what it gives to us. Now if you’ll excuse us, we need to bug out!”

“Catch ya later,” Chat added with a rougeish wink and two-fingered salute. They bounded away to find a safe place to drop their transformations and recharge. “Wow, that was a fast one, Mari,” Chat said right before the flash of light transformed him back into a twenty five year old blonde man. “I know we have dinner at home, but…” Adrien stretched his arms to the side, then stretched his body left and right. “I’m raring to go save somebody else! Can we? Can we can we can we?”

“We are already pretty far from home...I wouldn’t mind patrolling around for some trouble we can stop,” Marinette agreed with a shrug. “We definitely don’t get out as much as we used to. But you don’t have homework to grade?”

“Naw. It can wait,” Adrien promised. “Plagg? Tikki? You up for some more work tonight?”

The kwamis were already munching on the supply of cheese and chocolate Marinette now permanently kept in her purse. Tikki looked up with a wide smile and a nod, and so Plagg rolled his eyes and nodded too.

So after just a few more minutes of talking, while Adrien and Marinette helped each other stretch, Ladybug and Chat Noir were off running over roofs and through alleys. They stopped along the way for photos and autographs when there wasn’t danger. Paris, of course, _loved_ their heroes. There wasn’t a disaster Ladybug and Chat Noir hadn’t at least tried to solve...fires, were just the start. Boat crashes on the Seine, car collisions all over town, people falling from windows, escaped zoo animals, even arson and explosives. By the time the two of them saved the civilians, Ladybug could erase all the damage as if nothing had happened. Paris was born fresh every time the black and red blurs touched down.

They had a statue in their honor, a street named for each hero, and were the celebrated guests at many Primary schools. Honored presences at most civic celebrations. They wrapped up robberies, intercepted with muggings, and had more than one opportunity to trap a pick-pocket in Ladybug’s yo-yo while the police arrived, Chat Noir standing by threateningly with his baton in hand. It was easy to tear through town, saving the day.

It could still be terrifying and emotionally draining. After all, if Ladybug didn’t throw her charm in time, things got dangerous. If life wasn’t restored exactly as before they arrived, citizens grumbled. But the thrill of working with your best friend to bring life and happiness to your favorite city? That was the reason Adrien and Marinette never hung up their miraculi, even after Le Papillon was defeated and the akumas disappeared. They’d taken a break for less than a year to recover from the emotional distress of that final battle, but Paris called to them like a siren and Adrien and Marinette could not resist.

Besides, it was healing for them. Not all the world’s bad came from Gabriel Agreste. And Ladybug and Chat Noir were loved...they _needed_  to feel that love, especially after putting Gabriel away forever.

After a good two hours of interacting with civilians and cleaning up messes, Ladybug and Chat Noir had wormed their way back to their shared apartment. It was massive and belonged to Adrien, purchased comfortably from his share of his father’s wealth. Adrien owned 51% of what his father had before he started serving his four consecutive life-sentences in prison and Adrien was more than comfortable living off of interest. After all, his teacher’s salary wouldn’t pay for a two bedroom apartment in the fourth arrondissement, overlooking the Seine, and while Marinette was quickly working her way up the ladder at the Acharné Fashion House, most of her colleagues lived much farther uptown. Paying for utilities (out of her own pride and their own compromise, not necessity) made everything a lot more comfortable for the both of them.

They laughed as they swung into their open window, recounting the face of the jewelry robbers that Chat had tripped, right before Ladybug wrapped them up to serve time. The two of them ate their paella, went to bed, and started everything all over again.

It was a comfortable life for the two of them- partners in heroism, household, and friendship. It felt like Marinette and Adrien had finally found a groove to live in that worked for them. They finally had their balance.

Until they didn’t. Until one day in mid-June, three weeks after Adrien finally graded his homework and Marinette completed her suit jacket designs, someone else beat them to a hostage situation bank robbery.

As soon as they got the alert, Adrien and Marinette sprang into action, flying through the sky towards the First National Bank of France in question. Ladybug’s eyes were trained in on the bank so tightly that she didn’t see an orange blur suddenly cut them off.

“Woah!” She yelped out, losing her balance and stumbling on the roof.

“My Lady!” Chat shouted, grabbing Ladybug before she lost her balance completely. They came to a stop and watched in surprise as the orange person ran at top-speed...at _their_ speed...towards the same bank.

This person had a tail whipping behind them and when they leapt into the air, Marinette knew… “They have a miraculous.” She looked at Chat, a new urgency in her eyes separate from the bank situation. “Come on, we have to catch up to them.” Head down, Ladybug ran as fast as she could while Chat galloped to keep up. They followed the orange person and Ladybug tried to register as many details as possible. Feminine figure. Black thigh-boots, matching black elbow-gloves. Obviously based on a fox. Costume ears over red hair with white tips, pulled in a ponytail. If only she could see their face…

But then the mysterious person dropped down, well before the bank. Wait, were they _not_ here to break the hostage situation? “Change in plans, I guess,” Ladybug grumbled. “Get to the gendarmes [4] so we can figure out what the current situation is.”

“Oui, chef!”[5] Chat called out. They were close enough that he could use his baton to fling himself to the gendarmes and Ladybug launched her yo-yo similarly, latching to a nearby streetlamp and settling herself on the ground. Chat was already shaking hands with the commander in charge. “Ladybug, this is Commander Raincomprix. Commander Raincomprix, this is Ladybug.”

“Hello, Commander. Let’s get this situation handled as fast as possible. What’s going on here?”

The commander, a wall of a man, looked at the bank and past the heroes. “Well, we know for a fact there are at least four terrorists inside the building and they’ve informed us that they have eleven hostages. Both bank employees and customers. So far we’ve-”

The commander was cut off by a crackle of the negotiator’s radio. It came to life and the terrorists began to speak, “Hey, what...what’s going on? What’s wrong with the building? Is this some kind of joke, you poulets?!”[6]

Frantically, the negotiator replied while Ladybug watched on, confused. “Montrone, we haven’t sent in or done anything since our last communication. You said something is wrong with the building. What’s going on?”

Another voice sounded through the radio, a little farther away. “Boss, it’s coming from the safes. It’s coming from the safes!”

“What seems to be the problem, gentlemen?” the negotiator tried again. He looked over at the commander and bank manager who both shrugged.

“Don’t lie, you fils de putes flics![7] You did this, didn’t you? We’ll kill them! We’ll kill them all!”

Ladybug bent down to rush in, but two gendarmes held her back. “He’s bluffing, Ladybug. But if you run in there, they’ll get spooked. We don’t know what’s going on yet.”

“Let us help you,” the negotiator begged. “What is happening inside the building?”

The terrorists spoke again. “It’s coming from all the safes now! What the hell is going on? Who did your fucking plumbing?”

“Monsieur Montrone, what is-”

“It’s flooding, you idiot! The bank is flooding!” _Flooding_? Ladybug looked at Chat Noir, who looked equally confused. They could see no change from here...but maybe the water hadn’t spread yet. The terrorist continued, “Oh, fuck, it’s going faster. It’s...it’s up to our ankles now. It’s cold. Boys, get the hostages on desks! They’re no use to us drowned. It’s up to our knees now! How is it going so fast? Is this your idea of a joke, Raincomprix?! We’ll kill them!”

And now, Ladybug could see the commotion from inside the bank. People in masks hefted the hostages onto tables, trudging around as if their pants were all wet and heavy. And yet...they couldn’t see any water in the bank at all. But the voices on the radio got more and more terrified. “It’s getting higher! It’s getting higher! Oh, fuck, if it’s coming from the safes...the euro notes...What the hell is going on? Putain de merde[8], it’s up to my chest now…” and the crackling abruptly stopped.

All the police officers were now mumbling together, confused and cautious. Chat Noir and Ladybug stood uselessly, watching as the terrorists screamed at one another, pointing at nothing, then pointing at the doors and windows. They started to panic more, holding their heads high as if to stay above the water. But there was nothing there! The hostages were blindfolded and tied up, resting in plain sight on top of desks and tables, now almost completely ignored by the panicked terrorists.

When the radio came back to life, the terrorists were all screaming. Screams of anger, screams of frustration, and screams of terror. And those screams sent chills down Ladybug’s spine. Every scream was a cry for help to her, but she wasn’t allowed to do anything here. At least not until Commander Raincomprix started to yell himself. “They’re making their way towards the door! The moment that thing opens, I want every man here to get them! Ladybug, Chat Noir, that means you. Tackle! Taze! But do _not_ fire. I don’t want any accidents around our hostages. You hear me?”

Then it happened. The first terrorist opened the door and the gendarmes rushed for them. Ladybug and Chat Noir leapt over their heads and landed much closer to the door and the terrorists, but Ladybug was more concerned with protecting the hostages. She slipped in while Chat and his baton helped take down terrorists. Ladybug wasn’t sure what she expected inside the bank- a rushing flood of water? Soggy floor? But it was perfectly dry and normal...expect of course for the gun holes in the ceiling, knocked over furniture, and panicked patrons.

She ran to them and jumped onto the table when the orange miraculous holder sprinted past, already inside the bank. Ladybug finally got a good look at her- her suit was beautifully designed and detailed, even with angry little eyebrow spots on her mask, which rested on a beautiful, dark face. In one gloved hand she held a flute, which must be her weapon. The fox woman ignored Ladybug and the hostages, instead going after one of the terrorists who seemed to be attempting to _swim_ away and towards a different door. But there was no water? Why and how was he swimming?

Ladybug didn’t ponder that long. She didn’t have time, when the fox woman let out a blood-curdling scream and pounced like the terrorist was her prey. Her hands pushed on his shoulders and with a sickening crack, Ladybug watched as the man’s knees gave out beneath him. His own scream changed into a blubbering yelp as the fox woman lifted him up, pushed him down, lifted him up, pushed him down...somehow, this was panicking the man even more than breaking his knees seemed to.

Then it hit her. He was still imagining the water. She was forcing him to imagine himself being...dunked and tortured. “Oh, my god,” Ladybug muttered under her breath. She’d never seen anything like this before, and she’d never seen anyone like her before. She was beautiful, dangerous, devastating, and incredibly confusing to watch. The rational, empathetic part of her brain was horrified by the torture. The aggressive, defensive part of Ladybug didn’t argue as much. And the bisexual part of her brain was...well, uh, _impressed_.

Eventually, the fox woman was satisfied with her dunking action, or maybe bored with it, and used her flute to smack him in the gut until he collapsed to the floor. Broken knees, he couldn’t run, and he gripped his ribs with one hand while the other covered his face. The man’s eyes were wide, his face was pale, and he appeared to be crying both in pain and terror. That’s when the fox woman froze and Marinette recognized the familiar beeping noise of a miraculous. She didn’t bother talking to the police, or saving the hostages, although she did glance their direction. That’s how she seemed to notice Ladybug for the first time.

The fox woman did a double take, then quickly glanced Ladybug up and down. “Ladybug. Keep the hostages safe,” she commanded, and ran off down a hallway to disappear.

She was already gone when Ladybug remembered how to speak. “Okay,” she said, weakly. When she turned, she saw the gendarmes handcuffing all the men, still screaming in terror. “There’s, uh, one in here. He’s badly hurt!” she yelled to the police. They scampered over and Ladybug started to undo the ties of the hostages with Chat Noir’s help.

“What happened in here?” Chat asked her, helping yet another grateful, scared person free.

“I...don’t know. Who was she?”

“Who was who?”

Ladybug looked off into the hallway, waiting for the fox woman to come back. Surely, her kwami had recharged by now. Didn’t she want to help finish clean up? Greet the victims? Meet Ladybug and Chat Noir? “Who the hell was she?”

\--iii--

Ladybug and Chat Noir talked to the Commander and the hostages for about twenty minutes before excusing themselves, Ladybug gripping Chat’s forearm like a vice. “Let’s go to my parents’,” she muttered. Chat nodded and followed Ladybug into the sky, over the rooftops, and onto Marinette’s old balcony, where they both transformed and slipped through the skylight. Marinette’s bedroom was now refitted into a guest room, but really, nothing had changed. Following the path Adrien had carved out when he and Marinette dated at the end of lycée, they dropped into her room, detransformed, slipped down one floor, out a window to shimmy down the drain pipe and drop to the boulangerie’s private entrance. And then, of course, walked around the main front.

Sabine Cheng shrieked in delight, like she did every time her daughter and her roommate visited. “Marinette! Adrien! Are you here for dinner or just to steal a pastry?” She hurried around the counter and gave each of them a hug and kiss.

“Steal a pastry, Maman. Adrien and I wanted to discuss our schedule for next week.”

When Tom backed up through the kitchen door and into the room, he had a similar reaction. “Adrien! Marinette! Don’t you have your own apartment now, kids?”

Adrien was entirely engulfed by the massive hug from Tom, so he replied in a strained voice, “Yeah, but it isn’t attached to your pastry shop, Tom!” Tom laughed.

“Take your pick, then. And how has your week been?”

“Uneventful,” they answered simultaneously. Marinette politely discussed how her week of designing had gone while Adrien helped Sabine with a question about the till. They chattered with Marinette’s parents for a few minutes before picking out pastries and excusing themselves into the private home just upstairs.

Ever since they had started to date, Marinette’s parents had become like parents to Adrien. Tom realized very quickly that Adrien’s birth home was cold, lonely, and unloving and insisted that he had New Parents Now. Adrien even lived at their home during the complicated transition while everyone awaited Gabriel/Le Papillion’s trial. He lived there until Adrien and Marinette left for university and visited every holiday. Even after the romance between Marinette and Adrien fizzled out, Tom and Sabine had maintained their stubborn parenthood over Adrien. He was as comfortable at the Dupain-Cheng home as he was at the Agreste/Dupain-Cheng apartment. And that included stealing croissants and éclairs maybe a bit too often.

But as soon as they were out of the bakery, Marinette’s face returned to the stern, composed expression of Ladybug On A Mission. She grabbed a kitchen chair and glared hard towards Adrien. “Okay. So, that woman. She _must_ be a miraculous holder...she had the suit, the powers...I even heard her miraculous beep at her. We know Master Fu told us there were other miraculous we hadn’t met yet around France before he…” she cleared her throat, looking away and ignoring the word she still didn’t want to admit. It had been four years, but it still felt like just yesterday. “But she’s here in Paris...wouldn’t we have seen her before?”

“It is strange...all the miraculous holders we know about are in other cities. London, Beijing, New York, Berlin...and we all keep tabs on each other. Almost everything else is in the box, right? I mean, after Master Fu recovered the peacock miraculous and the butterfly miraculous, he seemed confident that everything else was...didn’t he say ‘in the right hands’? And that we were all perfectly suited for each other, should we need to call out for help?”

“Yes. Even the ones we don’t keep in contact with personally, he said they were in good hands around the world. So how would someone appear out of nowhere in Paris? Or why?”

Plagg flew out of Adrien’s shirt and on his way to the kitchen, shot back, “You kids ever hear of this newfangled thing called _moving_?”

Marinette suddenly felt very dumb.

And Tikki didn’t exactly help. “Plagg is right! She’s _definitely_ a miraculous holder who must have moved from her hometown. I would recognize Trixx’s work anywhere. They have a very distinct style.”

Plagg returned holding a giant wheel of camembert. “Plus, you know, it’s a magic human dressed up as a fox. That sounds like Trixx to me, too.”

Adrien looked between the two of them. “So...Trixx is a good kwami?”

“All kwamis are good, Adrien. It’s human nature that has the ability to manipulate their powers for evil. Take a look at Plagg, for example. The power of destruction! Innately, the power of destruction is _good_. It’s part of the natural cycle. But if it falls into the wrong hands…”

Plagg tapped Adrien’s head. “She’s saying we’re lucky I ended up with such a goody-two-shoes great kid like you.”

Marinette looked back at Tikki. “So, then what is Trixx’s power?”

“Illusions,” Plagg and Tikki answered in unison. Tikki continued, “Otherwise known as deception, lying, camouflage...they’re one of the younger kwamis. When the first animals evolved to utilize mimicry, Trixx came into being. I know they chose a fox as their form, but frankly, I think the chameleon was some of their best work,” Tikki said, sounding proud of her friend.

“Naw, Tikki. The mimic octopus! That thing _rules_.”

“Ooh, good point. I’m surprised you didn’t say their best invention was sarcasm, though!”

“Har-har, Tikki. Very funny. Wasn’t that from the kwami of language? Or was that a group project between Trixx and them?”

Marinette waved a hand between the kwamis. “Hey, guys! Can we focus? Chat and I are a little freaked out right now.” She turned to Adrien again. “If their power is the power of illusion, I think that explains the whole ‘bank is flooded’ thing when it was totally dry. They must have created an illusion of a flooding bank to smoke out the terrorists.”

Adrien sat up a little taller. “You know, that’s actually really ironic! It’s a popular hunting tactic to fill a fox’s burrow with smoke, which is how we get that expression, ‘smoke out’, and since our new friend is a fox-”

“Monsieur Agreste, please, no biology class right now. I’m not even sure she _is_ our friend. Let’s assume we’re correct, and the Fox Lady made an illusion of a flood in the bank to trick the terrorists. One tried to escape through a different door than the rest...I was inside, so I saw all of this. She grabbed him, _broke his legs_ -”

“ _What?!_ ”

“-and then proceeded to dunk him up and down in the imaginary water. I think just to scare him more.”

“That’s terrifying!”

“ _Then_ , she broke some of his ribs and just left him on the floor when she ran off to detransform. That’s not...that doesn’t sound like a ‘friend’ to me.”

Plagg and Tikki looked at each other cautiously, then looked back at Marinette. “Trixx has dangerous abilities,” Tikki cautioned, “Dangerous for the mind, especially.”

“We can’t write her off immediately, though,” Plagg retorted. “Trixx’s abilities also have a tendency to _look_ worse than they are. I mean, that’s their thing. Maybe you two should figure out more about Fox Lady first.”

“We don’t know anything about her,” Adrien disagreed. “You’ve seen her, Marinette. And I’m sure she’ll show up on the rooftops again, right?”

“Right,” Marinette agreed, already pulling out her sketchbook. She clicked open a mechanical pencil and started to draw, first throwing on a quick female bodyform, as she did for all her fashion designs. “Her suit was form-fitting, obviously. She was on the thicker side, but with an hourglass figure, you know? She’s curvy. Even though her suit was form-fitting, it had this...almost like a cloak top. It met at a V; very elegant. And the suit tails formed a real tail, but it was just a thin layer of cloth...like this. She had thigh-high boots, gloves...those were black,” she added as she quickly colored them in, “a white belly, orange body, black neck. I think her miraculous is her zipper that hung at her chest- I saw that blink. And her hair…” she spent much longer on the hair than she had on the entire suit, drawing each lock of hair and texturing it softly, shading to imply the ombre edges that faded to white. “Her hair looked almost like fox tails. She had long fox ears in her hair, and a really large two-tone...actually _three-_ tone mask. She’s black, and her face…” Marinette’s drawing started to slow down again. Her style seemed to shift from the quick, concept-sketch style of the suit to a more realistic, careful rendering. She added shading, she added highlights in the eyes, she added the slightest shadow from her hair all across her face. “Has the roundest, softest cheeks. Her eyes were bright yellow and passionate. And her lips…” she drew over the lips and the stern, dangerous expression over and over and over again.

“Uh, Marinette?” Adrien asked, earning only a soft ‘hmm?’ in reply. “Should we leave you and your sketchbook alone for a minute?” Plagg cackled.

Marinette snapped up, startled and embarrassed. She was flushing red. “What?! She was pretty! She might be evil, we don’t know that for sure yet, but she was pretty!”

Tikki giggled. “Yes, we can all see that you thought so. Your drawing is _very_ nice. I noticed you also shaded her body in a very loving manner.”

Suddenly embarrassed of her drawing, Marinette threw her entire body on top of the sketchbook. “You guys! I’m trying to help us!”

“By drawing a pinup of Trixx’s holder?” Plagg teased, flying over to lift Marinette’s forearms. “I know fashion drawings have exaggerated bodies, but Marinette, how thirsty _are_ you?”

Adrien laughed and put a finger out to give Plagg the tiniest high-five.

“You’re all getting distracted. We need to research this woman!”

It was apparently Adrien’s turn to tease again. “Alright. Should we go look for her dating profile? Think she uses _Her_?”

 _“Adrien!_ ” Marinette hissed, now turning bright red. She pulled out her phone and unlocked it in a huff. “You’re all terrible friends. If this woman is evil and turns Paris into a hell-hole while you’re all laughing because I think she’s attractive, I’m blaming you!” Angrily, she tapped ‘mysterious fox woman’ into the browser and went to Google Images. Unfortunately for Marinette, the sexy fox furries that appeared just made her three friends howl with laughter. She scrolled four times past picture after picture, making them laugh even louder, until she got frustrated. “Well, I can’t google ‘miraculous’. Most people don’t know what that is! Or at least they shouldn’t!”

Tikki wiped laughter out of her eyes, offering “Try-...heehee...Try ‘superhero’. Or ‘supervillan’.”

Marinette listened to Tikki’s advice and added ‘superhero’ at the end of her search. The laugher died quickly when the new google images loaded. And there she was.

There weren’t many good pictures of her. It wasn’t like searching ‘Ladybug’ or ‘Chat Noir’, where there were page after page of publicity photos, fan selfies, and professional renderings. Most of these were blurry newspaper shots with occasional stand-out candids. Some amateur drawings, most with a few incorrect details. “It’s her,” Marinette said, voice quiet. Her eyes immediately went to one of the pictures on the first page- a closeup of her angry face, someone else’s blood splattered over her nose and onto her mask as she gripped the flute like a baseball bat. Did she want this to be the same woman from before? Did she have a choice?

Marinette’s finger shook as she tapped the photo and brought up the newspaper article. “Her name is Rena Rouge,” Marinette announced. She didn’t dare read the title out loud- _Rena Rouge: The Only Anti-Hero of France_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Youpi:"Whoopee" or "Yippee"  
> 2 Collège/Lycée: "Collège" is school in France for kids ages 11-14, basically Junior High (or middle school). "Lycée" is school in France for kids ages 15-18, basically High School.  
> 3 Matou: "Tomcat". It's a bit more grown up (and a bit more sassy) than the kitten nicknames Ladybug uses in collège.  
> 4Gendarmes: Literally, "armed men". Specifically, armed policemen. "Police" is the french word for a 'regular' policeman, while a gendarme is a lot closer to the US understanding of a Marshall or the Marines, which you might call in for national security, a riot, or a hostage situation like this.  
> 5 "Oui, Chef!": Used the same way we say "Aye aye, Captain!". Chef also means "Chief", by the way, so it's not necessarily a connection to the kitchen.  
> 6 Poulets: Literally, "Chickens". However, it's also used as a slang insult for the police. Like 'police scum'.  
> 7 "Fils de putes flics": Two separate things here- "fils de pute" is "son of a bitch" and "flic" is "cop". Just like 'cop', it's slang. And this is pluralized.  
> 8 "Putain de merde": Fucking shit- "Putain" is "fuck" and "merde" is "shit"...those are both words we're gonna see a lot in this story by the way, as they are VERY popular swears, both separate and together. ("De" is of. Literally, it's 'fuck of shit'.)


	2. Igniting a Bomb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I do not have the patience to wait an entire month between updates. I'm going to jump to updating twice a month! I have enough buffer to take us to December at that rate. And can I just say I am really excited for the journey this story is going to take between now and then...!
> 
> Some chapters, like this one, are a little heavier on the mature content. We're being introduced to who Rena Rouge really is, which gets kinda nasty. Buuut after this chapter we'll have our exposition done and there will be more plot and less graphic scenes for awhile. 
> 
> **Content Warning: Violence.** Second half of section two and later in the first third of section five.

\--i--

A rude, piercing ray of sunlight punched through a window at the Le Parisien offices and roused Alya awake. She grumbled and swatted at the light, but finally lifted her head off of her keyboard. “Aw, shit,” she whispered, quickly going to work on erasing the rows of the letter ‘g’ her cheek had pressed down. “Sunrise. Time for a breakfast break,” she announced out loud, also waking up Trixx from where they slept among the pens. Alya stood up, stretched, and yawned, far louder than the tiny yip of yawn Trixx had. "Let's go, bud," Alya said, pulling up her bag so Trixx could fly in. She shouldered her bag and headed to the elevator, enjoying a few more moments in the silent office before employees with their lives put together started to arrive.

The elevator dinged and opened to reveal Michelle Omnes, another writer for the Société[1] pages. Michelle was the kind of outdoorsy, gruff woman who absolutely _seemed_ like she should be writing for the sports section, or be gay, or both. But Michelle was absolutely neither. Alya nodded politely to her colleague, who greeted back, “Good morning, Césaire. How long have you been here today?”

“Got in at 4:45 today.”

Michelle stepped out of the elevator, holding the door for Alya. “Hey, 15 minutes later than yesterday. You sleep in?”

“Very funny, jackass,” she replied, offering a smile. Michelle was one of the few writers who had reached out to Alya when she joined the staff, herself joining less than a year earlier and remembering what it felt like to be left out. They just so happened to get along as well. “Hey, you want to grab a coffee with me? I’m going to that good boulangerie today I keep telling you about.”

Michelle  shook her head. “Not today, thanks. I’m here early on purpose...I mean, not Alya levels early, but early for me. I have my interview with Chloé Bourgeois to piece together on where to shop for the Soldes. You know, I got some serious gay vibes from her. You should have come with!”

“They don’t count as ‘gay vibes’ when she has a different female date to every fashion show she attends,” Alya chuckled. “Still, you’re a good straight woman, trying to set a girl up. But I think you forget I know her reputation. I wouldn’t go near her for all the gold in the world. Believe it or not, there are more than two queer girls in Paris.”

Alya’s elevator beeped angrily, so she slipped in and Michelle let go of the door. “Oh, really? Have you found them, then? Are they cute?” Michelle teased.As the doors started to shut, Alya smiled tight at Michelle and gave her a rude hand gesture. Michelle just laughed.

The elevator doors shut, the elevator descended, and on auto-pilot, Alya carried herself to her favorite little boulangerie. Their pastries were flakier than any other boulangerie she’d found, but most importantly, the coffee was strongest. And the short Chinese woman who ran the register was always so warm and inviting, no matter what time of day it was. Plus, they actually sold ice cream, so Trixx was convinced it was the only one worth trying.

Today had almost no line, so Alya walked right up to the front. “Good morning, Mademoiselle!” the cashier greeted. Alya returned the greeting, and almost immediately, the woman turned to the teenager next to her behind the cases of pastries. “A café serré[2] and a cup of ice cream!”

Alya grinned at her friendly cashier. “Madame, you know me like my own mother. Can I also get a croissant and a café crème[3] today?”

“To stay?” the cashier asked, a bit of surprise on her face.

“Naw, for my desk at work. I’m having trouble with my article about electric grid systems. I just can’t find the heart of the story.” Alya shook her head as her order fulfilled itself in front of her eyes. “I got passed on the article about plastic bags _again_. It went to Hulot.”

“I’m so sorry, dear. I’m sure you’ll find something to write about with those electric grids.” She took the two cups of coffee and passed them to Alya- the tall one in a disposable cup, the small one in a tiny ceramic mug. “When my daughter is given an assignment without any creativity, she likes to work backwards. She thinks about the person who is supposed to buy her clothing design, instead of the design itself. Then she works specifically for them. It puts a face and heart to something normally heartless, she says.” Alya adjusted how she held the cups so she could take her bagged croissant and tiny to-go cup of ice cream for Trixx. “Maybe the same strategy will work for you. Ask yourself: who is going to read your article about grid systems?”

“I’ll give that a try, Madame. That’s not a bad idea.”

“My daughter is very smart, you know,” the cashier added, giving Alya a sly grin. “She’s about your age and just as hard of a worker. I think you two would be great influences for each other.”

Alya chuckled. She recognized this game, and it wasn’t the first time her favorite cashier had subtly brought up her daughter. Especially after the day Alya let slip that she had dated women. “The single daughter with a good job and a nice apartment who would love to try my cooking some time? That one?”

“The one and the same!”

“Wow, this is the second time someone’s tried to set me up today and I haven’t even had my little coffee!”

“Oooh, well I’m sure my daughter is better than whoever you were set up with earlier, Mademoiselle. After all, she comes with a built-in boulangerie!”

Alya threw her head back and laughed. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing? And you don’t even know anything about me besides my breakfast order, Madame. Maybe I should be worried you’re that desperate to see her off.”

“Ah, but you forget how long I’ve been in this business. You can know a lot about a person from their breakfast order. And the fact that they actually talk to the nosy old Chinese lady working the register.” She winked. Then she laughed softly, waving a goodbye. “We’ll see you tomorrow, Mademoiselle,” she promised. Alya shared the goodbye and turned around. She drank her shot of café serré before dropping the cup off in the bin near the door and leaving. _I should really learn her name_ , Alya thought as she left the boulangerie. And maybe, maybe when she actually had her byline published a bit more, she’d agree to meet her daughter.

It had been almost a month. Shouldn’t she have her name in Le Parisien more by now? She was pulling earlier _and_ later hours than any other new writer. Frankly, if she wasn’t, Alya probably wouldn’t write at all...she’d become some sort of errand-girl for many of them at the office during the regular working hours. Especially the lead of the Societé section, Henri, who seemed to have not one positive impression about Alya. She was fetching coffees, contacting IT, carrying memos, hunting down the editor's assistant Sabrina...was she nothing more than an intern to them?

Alya’s entire day was spent in a mood as bitter as her morning coffee. The only highlight was that Boulangerie Lady’s suggestion had actually worked; by five pm, she had a second draft finished for her electric grid article and it actually had some kind of heart. Michelle was impressed, at least. And by now, seven pm, Alya had finished her last draft. Well, hopefully her last draft. To the soundtrack of a grumbling stomach, Alya emailed it off to her superior. Knowing Henri, Alya would already have notes for corrections before she got in at Fucking Too Early in the morning.

She stretched and looked around the office. A handful of cubicles were lit up, click-clacking of keys much quieter than during daylight hours. Sure, Alya could stay later, but her energy was absolutely sapped. There was only one thing she wanted to do when she felt this useless, this unappreciated, this bone-tired.

Eat, first of all. God, Alya could eat a horse right then.

But then, sniff out criminals and kick some ass.

\--ii--

After an incredibly satisfying fish dinner (her mom’s recipe) and treating herself to a well deserved chocolate mousse, Rena Rouge cracked open her window. The best part about this stupid window looking out at a brick wall was that she could crawl out, leap down into the alley, and no one would see her. No one looked out their beautiful brick-wall-view window. It was even easier sneaking out of her Paris apartment than the one in Marseille.

Rena touched down and slipped along the walls and through the shadows. She darted across a side-street and when a couple walked by, she sucked in all her breath and hid behind a trashcan.

“-And I really love your purple dress, Anastasia. I’m so glad you wore it tonight,” the man told his date. _Lie_.

“Thank you, honey! I bought it just for you!” _Lie_.

“I can’t wait to pull it off you later tonight, too. I want a piece of you before I go on that business trip.” _Huge lie_. God, this couple was terrible. Rena rolled her eyes and let them pass.

It took her several more side streets until she found anything worthy of her energy. She had to weave through alleys and even dart across a few roofs to avoid the Paris crowds. But then she found it- a warehouse door that looked much cleaner than the rest of the warehouse and a terrible stench of lies coming from behind the giant metal door.

Rena stalked her way towards the door, leaning down and letting her fox ear brush against the metal while she peeked into the keyhole. Inside the warehouse, she could make out a large group of people seated around a table, several holding guns and one pointing angrily at something blocked from view. Eleven total. And whatever was going on was obviously very illegal. _Ooh, gentlemen. This is going to be fun_.

A plan started to formulate in her mind. Rena snuck around the other side of the building and up to the roof, finally finding an old air vent. She dropped into it as silent as a mouse, following the stench of lies to weave her way through the ventilation and towards the meeting. God, they smelled so bad, every single man there must be lying to every other man. She easily found the room and situated herself right above, listening close.

A heist. Specifically a museum heist. Alya grinned and flipped her tail excitedly. Finally! She hadn’t broken up a good heist since Marseille. And this group was so damn dysfunctional, she might not even need to lay a paw on them herself.

She wanted to wait for the opportune moment. It took about ten minutes as the big boss ran over their instructions. Something about pickup trucks, janitor costumes, and even using the catacombs. Alya made careful note of where the evidence was- even just proof of intention should be enough to put these men away once she was done playing with them. Then, he stood up and turned his back to the group.

Immediately, Rena pulled her flute to her mouth and blew a few notes, imagining how the scene would unfold and watching her imagination come to life. First, the old, unused garage door roared and groaned as its illusion opened wide and a pickup truck’s headlights washed all the men in yellow.

“Ey! Boss! What’s this; didn’t you say we were pulling it tomorrow?” one of the lackies yelled out. The others all followed in kind, angrily asking their boss for an explanation as he struggled to find one. Alya grinned...the next piece was about to come into play.

A voice that sounded just like the boss’s voice answered before anyone else could. “You idiots think I would give all ten of you a cut? Really? You think I’d risk the plans sitting around one more day? Naw; there’s only three of you here who I need, and they’re ready to go tonight while the rest stay home on their derches[4].”

The group exploded. They were angry at the boss, they were angry at each other, and the boss looked around, startled. He hadn’t spoken, but how could he back down when everyone heard his voice? How could he claim it wasn’t him without being called insane? Oh, the confusion was so delicious, Alya almost giggled. Her illusion spoke again, but this time, with the voice of one of the squeakier men. “I’m ready, boss. I know you promised your top men an extra cut and you got me already.”

The five men closest to the real squeaky man with that voice began to scream and yell and punch him, but having expected this, Rena’s illusion of a man from the other side of the group spoke as well. “You idiots think you’re in the top three? You don’t have the balls to be the boss’s right-hand man.”

“Hey! I’m the boss’s right-hand man!” one of the men shouted, pulling himself from the first fist-fight. He spun to the boss, glaring and shouting, “Right, boss?”

The boss looked stern, looked calm, but didn’t answer. But Rena could smell that even his calm demeanor was a lie- he was freaking out as his company fell apart. Especially when one of the men who had previously stayed uninvolved seemed startled. “Ey, Ricky, that ain’t right. _I’m_ the boss’s right hand man, you whoremouth!” Rena giggled to herself. She hadn’t even planted that illusion...and as three more men argued about it and started to throw punches, she realized this was even better than planned.

But as she’d originally planned, the illusion of the boss’s voice spoke up again. “You want to know why I’d give our plan out so easily? Because we got ourselves a mole in this group. You want to stop our B&E? Good luck. Only my most loyal are coming with me tonight...and that includes the one who finds the snake and cuts off its head. If that ain’t tonight, I’ll find your body tomorrow morning after you take that bait.”

And then it got messy. One man pulled a knife on another, a gun fired, fists flew. A stray bullet buzzed through the pickup truck, making the illusion shudder like a disturbed hologram, but no one seemed to notice, thankfully. These men were busy taking out the trash themselves while Alya watched in delight. She flinched as a few men fell to the ground and as wounds started to get bloody. Her miraculous gave its second warning: 3 minutes. Enough time for Rena to give them one last thing to worry about before she had to run off. No one had dared fight the boss...disappointing. She’d have to imagine better insults that would get a gang leader punched in the dick next time.

So he would be her target. Rena punched out the air vent and tumbled down into the room, landing on all fours. Her yellow eyes caught the shocked boss, her fanged grin glittered, and she screamed before pouncing on him. Rena caught the shocked man right as he misfired his gun, striking one of his men in the side instead of her. Rena tackled the man to the floor and dug her claws into his wrist, making him yell in pain. She pressed one knee onto his stomach to pin him in place and was ready to swat at his eyes when she smelled a lackey behind her. Rena moved quickly, scratching the gun out of the boss’s hand and into her own before whirling in a spiral and launching herself screaming at the approaching lackey. With her angle and his girth, she couldn’t knock this man to the floor, so she latched onto him and sank her teeth into his chest. Without looking, she fired the gun behind her at where she knew the boss’s leg was. He wouldn’t run away today and a horrified, pain scream confirmed that.

While the lackey screamed in pain, Rena took the butt of the gun and smacked him in the head, then braced both feet against his thighs. She leapt off of him, using his legs as a springboard as he collapsed onto the ground in pain and dizziness. She quickly inspected the leg of the boss, which was bleeding much too fast for her tastes. “Aw, punaise.[5] You can’t _die_ here, man,” she muttered. Looking around, Rena found a splintered fragment of a table that one of the men had used to bludgeon a coworker with. She snapped off part of the leg, tore off part of the bossman’s bloodied jacket, and wrapped the wood in fabric. Then jammed it into the bullet hole. “Gonna be real with you, this might get infected,” she told him as she screwed it into place. “They might amputate. But you won’t bleed out and die here, so be grateful for that.” She leaned in and grinned at him, forcing the boss to meet her glowing yellow eyes. “I want to guarantee that even if your sleazy-ass lawyer gets you off of jail time, you regret setting up this little operation for the rest of your damn life. And if the missing leg doesn’t cut it, not one man here is going to trust you or any of each other again.” She pushed the fabric and wood plug into the hole one last time, earning a scream as his entire body lifted in pain. Then Rena leapt away to inspect the room as a whole.

Five men were on the floor from injuries they’d given each other, two were still fighting, and Rena had her two victims behind her in a pile of pain. Two left.

About the time she started looking for the missing men, Rena heard a gunshot and sensed it was coming for her. She leapt away in a dodge and spun around towards the point of firing. Bags of flour...the bastard was hiding. Ducking low to the ground, Rena sprinted towards them and screamed out a warning. She pushed her entire weight into the flour bags, knocking them to the ground. One man screamed, stuck under the flour, and another ran to the left. Rena’s flute hit him across the knees, knocking him flat on his face. She brought the flute down one more time on his lower back, cracking bone. He wouldn’t be moving any time soon, either. Now the winner between the two dueling men was the only one left. He looked around at the scene, then at Alya, and made a run for the illusion of a getaway car. “Oh, this is great,” Alya laughed, leaning back and crossing her arms to watch.

The man screamed at the illusion of getaway drivers to open the door. So Alya imagined it opening. He made a running jump and crashed into the firmly closed warehouse door, promptly knocking himself out. “Well, this has been fun!” Rena chirped, speaking over the last warning beep of her miraculous. For good measure, Rena kicked the head of one of the particularly violent men and excused herself out their main door. She dropped her transformation almost immediately and dialed 122 on the old prepaid spare phone always kept in her bag.

“I’d like to report suspicious activity. I’m right outside an abandoned warehouse on Rue Chat Noir, just off of Rue Jarente. I heard screaming and gunshots from inside. Yes, just right now. No, I’m safe. Thank you, thank you, monsieur. No, I’ve left the scene. I was just walking by...should I have stayed? Okay. Yes, please. Thank you, monsieur. Goodbye!” Alya hung up the familiar call and with a skip in her step, made her way to the nearest ice cream parlor. Trixx deserved a treat. And then, maybe they could go out for another spin.

\--iii--

Alya found herself a corner booth where no one could see her kwami. Back home in Marseille, she almost never dared let Trixx out in a public place. But their studio apartment felt cramped and unfriendly and Alya didn’t have a separate space from working and sleeping. Even with all her decorations from Martinique and Provence, she didn’t feel...at home. It was harder to relax with Trixx there than here, in some random ice cream parlor. “Trixx, you did so great! I thought the blinding light when the headlights came on was a really nice touch. It startled them and had a spotlight effect at the same time, which is totally...very unsettling, you know?”

“It was your idea!” Trixx replied, giggling excitedly. They also got chipper after a fight well fought.

“Sure, but your execution. Speaking of which…do you think those men will get charged?”

“You did leave plenty of evidence lying around. And I got the feeling they’ve been hiding things and lying about activities for a long, long time. I smelled some really stale lies in that room. I’m sure the Paris Police have been trying to track them down for awhile.”

Alya dipped her spoon in her strawberry ice cream and took a bite before she answered. “Good thing they finally have me,” she said.

“You mean _us_ , right?” Trixx asked, then filled their mouth with ice cream like a little hamster. They swallowed and added, “So, you wanted to go out again? Or are we ready to go home and go to bed?”

“I’d like one more good fight before we crash,” Alya said, cracking her knuckles. “I’ve been so stressed today and yesterday with this stupid electric grid article. Trixx, I don’t even want to be writing that kind of merde. I was mad when I lost the plastic bag exposé, but honestly? That isn’t me either. I miss writing articles people actually read.”

“Yeah, you are getting assigned really boring stuff lately. You can do so much better. Like your articles about Rena Rouge back down South!”

“Exactly! You know, when Boulangerie Lady-”

“-You should really learn her name.”

“-I know. When she said to think about who would read it and write for them, I got a good mental image of who is gonna read my electric grid article. And Trixx, I don’t really think I ever want to meet my readers for that one.”

Trixx laughed. “Absolute dorks, you mean?”

“Oh, _absolute_ dorks. I want to write about the things I care about. People doing good. People making changes. _History_ happening. At least the plastic bag story would have had more general application.”

“You’ll get there,” Trixx promised. They quickly nuzzled into Alya’s side, then burrowed into her hair to hide when two people walked by.

“No, she can’t join us. I’m actually a little freaked out about it.” The stranger said.

“Why were they evacuated?” Asked the second voice. _Evacuated?_

“Bomb threat. It’s live right now, so there’s no one in the building until the bomb squad takes care of things.”

A bomb threat! Perfect! Well. Not perfect for the people with the bomb threat hanging over their head. But perfect for Rena! Alya leaned out of her bench to catch the strangers before they sat down. “Excuse me? I’m a reporter for Le Parisien. Where is the bomb threat?”

“L’Italie Deux, the giant shopping center in the 13th.”

“Thank you. Have a great night!” Alya told them, then forced the entire last half a scoop into her mouth. And immediately regretted it when she got instant brain freeze. “Aw, fuck. Power through it. Power through it!” She pushed her way to the bathroom, called on Trixx to transform her, and slipped out of the ice cream shop’s back exit towards the thirteenth arrondissement and the bomb itself.

\--iv--

“Okay Chat, this should be pretty straightforward,” Ladybug promised. She briefly looked past Chat, over the edge of the rooftops and towards L’Italie Deux, illuminated by police lights and its own interior lighting. “We just need to-”

“Look!” Chat Noir interrupted, pointing over Ladybug’s shoulder. She turned and squinted.

“I can’t tell what you see, Chat.” God, she wished she had night vision. Why weren’t ladybugs nocturnal, too?

“It’s Rena Rouge, coming this way!”

Ladybug gasped. She gripped the roof tighter and stared hard into the night until finally, an orange figure flashed under the glow of street lamps. Then darted back onto a roof, wove her way around chimneys, and kept going straight for them. She must also be coming for the bomb threat. Ladybug waved.

Evidently it caught Rena’s attention, because she paused and her ears twitched in uncertainty. Then she changed direction just slightly, moving towards Ladybug and Chat Noir instead of the threatened building.

Rena dropped down next to them, also in a crouch. “Ladybug. Chat Noir. Are you here for the bomb threat?”

Ladybug nodded. “Yes, we are. I’m glad to see you...Chat and I have been trying to get your attention and talk with you since that day with the bank hostages, but you never stick around.”

“...why would I?” Rena Rouge asked, one of the eyebrows on her mask moving up questioningly. And wait, her mask could do that? What??

A little taken aback by the mask and the gorgeous face under it, it took Ladybug an extra second to respond.

“So you could meet the people you save! Or talk to Chat and I!”

Rena gave a weak smile. “I don’t need to meet the people I save. I like to stay in the shadows.”

Ladybug bit the inside of her cheek and looked away from Rena. Her mind settled on the many articles she’d read, absorbing and learning everything she could about Rena. “I guess I’m not surprised by that,” Ladybug finally said, her voice a little cold.

Rena’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ladybug crossed her arms and turned to directly face Rena. In return, she noticed Rena’s position change to something a little more defensive and her tail flick behind her. “It means that your reputation precedes you. I guess I can see why someone with such a violent style wouldn’t want to meet small children, or why _they_ wouldn’t want to meet _you_.”

“Well, you’re not wrong,” Rena spat back. “I throw myself out there in a way that makes a difference. I do dangerous things and stay around dangerous people so those children can grow up in a safer city and know _not_ to do shitty things to one another. That puts a target on my back, you’re absolutely right. But at least I’m doing _something_ to get them off the street...I’m not scared of the retribution.”

“Are you implying I’m scared?” Ladybug asked, a laugh in her voice. “Me? _Scared_ ? I’ve been doing this for twelve _years_ , and-”

“And how many of your criminals that you’ve put away have come back to the streets during that time, Ladybug?”

Ladybug startled, her limp-hanging antennas wiggling to point upwards in surprise. Most of the criminals she and Chat put behind bars were still in jail, but it was always been frustrating to see criminals serve their time, get reintroduced to Paris, and get back to breaking the law again. “I don’t count that. I don’t keep track.”

“I haven’t had a _single one_ get back out on the street and get back into crime.”

Chat cleared his throat and tried weakly to get their attention, but instead, Ladybug was standing up and walking towards Rena, who immediately stood as not to be crouching below her. Ladybug snapped back, “Well sure, because they can’t _walk_ when you’re done with them. You’re messy. You’re messy and you leave people injured and traumatized and sometimes even _dead_.”

When she stood, Rena was much taller than Ladybug- almost an entire head taller. And that didn’t even account for her voluminous hair and ears flopping high. Rena took another step so that she was face-to-face with Ladybug and snarled, showing off all her teeth and especially her pointed canines. “Criminals. Not people. I leave criminals injured and I don’t know about you, but I don’t see why it’s a fucking bad thing that they can’t walk or that they get a little bit of emotional distress when they try to think about doing _illegal, violent, harmful things_ , Ladybug.”

“So you don’t consider them people?” Ladybug asked, her voice strained in unbelief.

“Not really, no. Not when I’ve seen those monsters ruin the lives of innocent children and civilians. That’s not something people do to each other.”

Ladybug pushed against Rena with a pointer finger, making the taller girl stumble just a little. Then she straightened herself out while Ladybug said back, “The world isn’t so black and white, Rena Rouge. Those criminals did the wrong thing, but they deserve rehabilitation, not revenge. They could be _fathers_!”

Chat Noir sighed, walking a little closer to them and said, “Ladybug, could we not-”

But Rena ignored him, steamrolling over Chat’s voice as she swatted Ladybug’s finger away and stepped impossibly closer, head hanging over Ladybug’s and their faces a breath away. “How would you know anything about criminals? You and Chat Noir take down...what is your average...three or four a month? Shoplifters and street muggers mainly, right? Isn’t most of your work putting out fires and handling things with, _gasp_ , no real guilty party? You’re scared of them. You’re scared of the killers, the rapists, the scum of the earth that people with backbones, like me, have to clean up.”

“Scared?! Did you not hear that Chat Noir and I took down the most dangerous, hated supervillain in all of France?”

“Oh, _The Butterfly?!_ ” Rena laughed, waving her hands mockingly. Not that Ladybug could see- they were standing too close to see anything but the flashing pupils behind each other’s masks. “That was seven years ago, Ladybug. There are kids on the street old enough to get in gangs who don’t even remember him. And did _The Butterfly_ ever actually kill anyone?”

“Yes! Yes, he did! But Chat and I are actually _good_ superheroes and cleaned that up.” Well. Most of them. But it hurt Ladybug too much to think about the ones they’d missed, that her lucky charm didn’t deem within the time frame to save, and she wasn’t about to let the flash of guilt break her concentration staring down this vile fox.

“It was seven years ago, Ladybug. You don’t do que dalle[6] anymore.”

Through gritted teeth, Ladybug replied, “Paris is _our_ city, and we protect it just fine. They haven’t ever complained.”

“Not yet, they haven’t,” Rena said back. “But now they actually have something to compare your pathetic lack of work ethic to.”

Ladybug flinched when suddenly she felt Chat’s familiar hand on her shoulder. She snapped her attention to him- when had he suddenly appeared at their sides? “Ladybug, Rena Rouge, please...can we just take care of the bomb? You two can finish clawing each other’s eyes out afterwards, I promise. But we’re all here, so let’s work together on this.”

“Are you kidding?” Ladybug’s laugh was dry, unamused. She took two steps back, away from Rena, to better face Chat Noir. “Chat, I don’t want to work with this sadist!”

Chat started to beg. “Ladybug, please. Remember what Master Fu said…”

“Fu was never alive to see the chienne[7] who took the fox miraculous in the first place! He couldn’t have known. He wouldn’t have asked us to work with her if he knew!”

“Ladybug, this isn’t like you,” Chat tried again. Then he paused. “Actually, this is _very_ like you. But you need to stop being the judgemental, vindictive version of you and try to be the cooperative Ladybug who actually gets things done with her partners.”

Rena spoke up with fire in her voice. “Hey, what about me? Do you think I want to work with her? Or you, for that matter, Chat Noir?”

Chat looked taken aback. He blinked, then shook his head. “Rena Rouge, don’t even try to get me upset. I live with this one,” he threw a thumb towards Ladybug and continued, “and you don’t know the half of what that entails.”

Horrified, Ladybug looked at Chat and noticed the tiniest teasing smile on his lips. So she snapped her attention to Rena Rouge, who also looked somewhat amused. Then Rena said, “I pity you, Chat Noir. That must be rough.”

He sighed dramatically and ran his hand through his hair. “It certainly is _chat-_ llenging. She can really _bug_ me sometimes.”

Rena sputtered a laugh. And Ladybug squeaked in horror. “Chat, what was that, huh? Whose side are you on?”

Chat turned to her and put a hand on his hip, the other hand swinging his tail around impatiently. “I’m on the work-together-so-this-bomb-doesn’t-explode side. Hopefully, you two will join me so we can take care of this before it explodes.”

Ladybug crossed her arms and glared. “Fine. We’ll work together. You _are_ interested in actually stopping the bomb, right, Rouge? Not causing mass death and destruction to the innocent people of Italie Deux?”

“Believe it or not, _Ladybug_ , I’m a good guy.” Rena said, spitting Ladybug’s name like it was a curse.

“I guess you’ll prove that today,” Ladybug replied, still glaring. Then she pulled out her yo-yo and opened it to a map of Italie Deux. “Okay, so we’re not sure where the bomb is exactly, but the threats all make it very clear that it’s in the north-west portion. Third level, so not the Carrefour. Rouge, before we make a plan, what are your powers?”

Rena replied, “Superspeed, strength, and durability, like you. I can leap high, I can smell lies and deception, and my miraculous ability allows me to create an immersive illusion. Anything from my imagination. Plus, I rock at hand-to-hand combat.”

“Okay. Our powers are-”

“Oh, I know yours. You two don’t keep anything secret from the press,” Rena cut her off.

Ladybug felt a little annoyed at that. Yes, she’d told the press their powers over the years...but Rena Rouge didn’t have to act so smug about it. “Alright, fine. Ideally, nobody needs to use their miraculous abilities. But I’d like Chat to be the one to disarm the bomb so that if it’s causing trouble, he can just cataclysm it.”

“That won’t make it explode?” Rena asked, caution in her voice. _As if she was ever cautious of anything,_ Ladybug thought.

“Naw, we’ve tried this before with explosive results!” Chat replied. Then he paused. “You know what, that was a very confusing pun. I meant good results. The bomb went dead.”

Ladybug continued her plan, ignoring Chat’s faux pas. “So we should all keep a lookout for it and get in touch if we find anything. Rouge, give me your flute.”

“The fuck? No, I will not give you my flute!”

“I just want to look at the communicator!”

“Nobody touches my flute, especially not you,” Rena growled, gripping her flute possessively.

Chat sighed. “Why don’t you just show her what you’re looking to accomplish, Buginette.”

Ladybug glared. She was supposed to be the mature one, not Adrien. Still, she closed her yo-yo and waved it in front of Rena. “So I have my yo-yo, right? When I open it, it has a home screen where I can pick what I want to do. Usually, if I’m thinking about Chat, my kwami sets contacting him as the first option when it opens.”

Chat couldn’t help but interject, “which means that’s always the first option.”

“Chat, please. I’m trying to teach. See, how his face is there with the phone icon? I tap it and…” Chat’s baton started to ring.

After a dramatic twirl of the baton, Chat opened it with a flourish and slurred into the baton, “Ällo, My Lady?”

Ladybug snapped it shut. “What I want to see is if yours can do you that. Chat and I have noticed that when other miraculous holders are working with us, they join the contacts list.”

Rena looked at the flute in her hand. Her expression unreadable. She twisted it one way, the another way, then slid it back and forth. Ladybug furrowed her brow. “Do you not know how to-”

Rena snapped her head up and snarled, “I know how to use my own flute, _Ladybug_. I just...there! It’s open! And I have a screen!”

“So now hit the-“

“I see the phone button, okay?! And...yeah, there’s your faces.” Experimentally, she tapped one. Ladybug’s yo-yo started to ring.

Ladybug opened the yo-yo and said into it, “okay, that works.” She tapped the red ‘end call’ button and continued, “So if any of us find the bomb, we let Chat know where to go.” Ladybug tapped around on her yo-yo until the map of the shopping center opened again. “Everyone should already be evacuated except the bomb squad at this point. That makes our job easier. Unfortunately, that means that the bomber was also probably evacuated. Rouge, you said you can sniff out deception, right? Do you think you could figure out who the bomber is if he’s outside with the crowd?”

“You want me to stay _away_ from the action?”

Ladybug narrowed her eyes. “I’m asking you to hunt down the bad guy, actually. I thought you would _like_ doing that.” And from the way Rena Rouge wordlessly pouted and looked away, Ladybug could tell she would. She smirked. That pout was cute, in a stupid, punch-her-face-in kind of way.

Eventually, Rena did comment, though. “I don’t like talking to civilians.”

Ladybug wanted to snap that that didn’t matter, that she should put the safety of Paris above her own comfort. But maybe she liked the idea of nobody else really ‘getting to know’ another hero in Paris. So far, she and Chat still held the hearts of the Parisians. So, she thought of a compromise.

“Can you...sniff out lies without your suit?” Ladybug asked, hesitantly. She knew that she had much better luck outside of her suit from the years with Tikki, and Adrien conversely had much worse luck. Jenga with him was an absolute delight on Marinette’s bad days. He had his heightened instincts, too. But that didn’t mean the skills outside of a suit thing was true for Rena Rouge.

“Yeah, I can,” Rena answered. “But I don’t have my flute out of my suit. To communicate.”

Chat answered this one. “If you catch him, you can transform and tell us. We don’t mind being out with the people...Ladybug can go detain the guy. And if we need you, we can still try and call you. It will just go to voicemail, but Trixx will know we called.”

“How did you know Trixx’s name?” Rena asked, suddenly pouncing into defensive mode as her hair started to rise on its ends, just a little.

“Our kwamis know each other, geez. Calm down.”

And Rena did. She sat back on her haunches, probably thinking over her side of the plan. So Ladybug decided to continue explaining. “I’d rather not use my miraculous ability, or yours, Rouge, unless we need to. Especially because I want my clean-up ability as a last resort if we get there too late. But I’ll pull it out to help us track it down if it’s been too long. So Chat and I will canvas the north-west portion. My yo-yo should easily help me get into any small spaces. Rouge, you keep us updated if you catch the bastard. Like Chat said, I can go get him. But try not to kill him, okay? Just...detain him a little until the police can take care of it.”

Rena rolled her eyes. “As if the _police_ would do anything that would actually-”

Chat sternly said, “Rena Rouge. Maybe hold off on the rant until later, yeah? We’re running out of time.”

“Meet back here after it’s all done. If anyone needs to recharge, we still meet back here and wait for them. Got it?”

“Why do we need to meet back here?” Rena asked, already impatient at that idea.

“ _Because_ we need a group debriefing. Especially since this will be our first time working together. It’s a simple plan. We’ll stay in touch and adjust as we go. Let’s bug out.” Ladybug launched her yo-yo towards the Italie Deux, Chat flying after her. A few seconds later, she heard a fox-like screech and knew Rena had jumped to follow them as well.

Ladybug and Chat worked together silently as they explored the outside of the building. Finally, Chat found an open window and forced it wide enough that they could slip through. He pointed the direction he planned to go and Ladybug went the other way. She carefully, silently, moved past the stores and down the halls. Boutiques lined the walls, closed with large metal chains and bars and not letting her in. How was she supposed to figure this out? How were they supposed to find an invisible threat?

Before Rena had arrived, she had encouraged Chat to use his super-hearing as much as possible. But Ladybug didn’t have that. So she would have to rely on luck. And luckily, she felt like pushing open the doors to her right.

\--v--

 _Okay, Alya. You have done this before. Just because it wasn’t your idea this time doesn’t make it a bad strategy...you’ve done this before. Besides, maybe you can present this as an article at work tomorrow..._ Alya was telling herself everything she could to get over her pride. That stupid, self-important, holier-than-thou bug! She wasn’t in charge of Rena Rouge, even if she apparently thought she was.

Yeah, this was the best use of her talents. Talents those people obviously didn’t have...if it weren’t for Alya, the bomber might never get caught. But she still kind of hated that it was _Ladybug_ ’s idea.

So Alya was determined to make the best of it. And maybe bust the guy’s kneecaps just to spite Ladybug. She wandered around with her recorder out, pushing through crowds of Parisians. They were all held back by police, bomb squad, and caution tape, everyone staring in interest at the nearly empty shopping center. Just waiting for it to explode or something.

“Excuse me, I’m with Le Parisien. Can you tell me what you were doing tonight at Italie Deux?” Alya took a few answers, but wasn’t picking up any lies. She thanked them, got their name, and moved on. “Excuse me, I’m with Le Parisien. Can you tell me what you were doing tonight at Italie Deux?” Same thing. More answers, no lies. Moving on.

The next two people were the same, just more nervous. One person was a little over excited to be interviewed by a ‘real, live newspaper!’. The next spoke English only, so Alya interviewed in English, spoke with someone who was _definitely_ lying about what he was doing at the shopping center...but after further probing, the guy’s lies were all related around that he wasn’t actually buying men’s clothing that night. He had truly no idea why anyone would want to blow up the shopping center or where the bomb might be. Another dead end.

For the sake of her article, she changed her questions a little bit, now asking why people would think the building would be a bombing target. The answers were more interesting, especially when she could sniff out the lies of the handful of people who claimed to have ‘no idea’...but that usually came down to their personal distaste towards shopping or the American Mall institution spreading into France...and none of them knew where the bomb was.

She was still interviewing random people seven minutes after landing among the crowd. She had plenty of material for the article (Alya decided she would have to make time to interview one of the bomb squad too, just to get as much context as possible), but was no farther on finding the bastard who wanted to blow up the place. She glanced towards the building and put a hand over her recorder to temporarily mute it. “Trixx, heard anything from them?”

“Not yet, Alya,” Trixx mumbled back.

“By the way, we are absolutely having a chat about my flute when we get home. How come I didn’t know it could even open? What else haven’t you told me?!”

“To be fair, I can’t exactly _show you_ things when you have your flute in hand.”

“Good point. Just let me know if they call, okay?” Alya lifted her thumb off the speaker and kept walking around, interviewing four more people on why they would stay to watch a bomb threat...why not just go home where it’s safer?

And then, on the fifth person, she caught another lie. “So why stay here and watch?” Alya asked.

Dressed in a hoodie and with deep bags under his eyes, the man replied, “It’s like a car crash, right? You can’t take your eyes away, even if you don’t want it to happen.” _Lie_.

“And why don’t you want this to happen?” The man looked at her suspiciously. So Alya explained, “We’re all standing around, waiting for an explosion to happen, or to find out that it’s been taken care of. But in your civilian’s opinion, why shouldn’t it explode?”

“To keep the businesses open. Obviously, nobody wants anything to get ruined.” _Lie_.

“Were you shopping inside the Italie Deux today?”

“Yes. I was buying dress shoes.” _Lie_.

“And did you see anything suspicious while you were there?”

“Nothing more suspicious than normal. I didn’t see anyone I thought was dangerous.” _Lie_.

“Okay...what was your name again, monsieur?”

“Pierre Gentillese.” _Lie_. Damn, lying about his name...she might actually have him. Alya shifted her weight from one foot to the other, trying to hold in her excitement.

“Thank you, Pierre.”

“Will that be all, Mademoiselle?”

“Oh, just one last question. Do you have any idea where the bomb might be?”

“No.” _Lie!! He was lying!_ He was _reeking_ of lying!

Alya smiled wide. “Thank you again, Pierre. Hopefully the bomb squad _does_ know, right?” The two of them laughed politely and Alya pushed her way through the crowd. She could feel ‘Pierre’s’ eyes on her, so she knew she had to move fast. Alya slipped among the people watching and approached a TV reporter with a large van. Perfect. She made small talk, press to press, and after the reporter walked off, Alya hid behind the van. Then, she took off with the van between her and ‘Pierre’ until she could get behind a wall of parked cars without any witnesses. “Trixx, Transform me,” she whispered, hoping the flash of transforming light wouldn’t give her away.

Rena Rouge stood up and looked around for a good vantage point. She found it on a nearby apartment’s balcony, hidden behind a curtain of hanging vines. Rena leapt there, peering down for the bomber and his familiar stench of lies. Finally, she found the hooded man, creeping closer to the barricade and glancing at his watch. She had to get him alone.

Private illusions were hard. They were some of Rena’s favorites, but they exhausted Trixx so much, Alya tried to avoid them when she could. But right now, in a desire to get this man separate from everyone else without herself getting caught (or calling on Ladybug...fuck that…), it seemed like her only option. So she closed her eyes and imagined exactly what she wanted to see, put her flute to her lips, and played.

Faintly, Rena could hear what ‘Pierre’ could hear, as if it was a recording played on low volume from two houses away. But Pierre snapped to attention as if it was a loud-speaker. “Everyone, please back away from the barricade. Back away from the barricade. All civilians are to proceed to the safe vantage point on Rue Paulin Mėry.” The message repeated. Rena could see a shaky, shadowy illusion of the entire crowd and all their police pushing backwards, backwards, past Rue Bobillot and towards the side-street. And yet, when her illusion would shake before her eyes, she saw the crowd exactly as they were, with only her target shuffling his way to the side-street. People moved out of his way, muttering, while ‘Pierre’ followed the voices only he could hear.

Finally, he crossed the busy street and found a place on the side street. Rena set her flute down and listened to the first warning beep of her miraculous. She grinned and leapt down, landing silently on her toes behind the bomber. Rena darted forward and wrapped one hand around his waist, the other around his mouth. Pierre in her grip, Rena bounded backwards to the roof, then up to a chimney with just enough room for the two of them. Rena set him down and put her mouth against his ear. “If you jump, if you scream, I’ll rip your throat out,” she threatened, moving the hand from around his waist to his throat and pricking the skin with her claw to give weight to her words.

He wriggled in pain and terror, but Rena trusted her words had sunk in when her claw did. She moved her hand from his mouth and back to holding him tight by the waist. “What’s your real name?” she snarled.

“Pierre Gentillesse.”

“Lie,” Rena hissed. “Your _real_ name.”

“Okay, it’s...Samuel Clements.”

“ _Lie_!” Rena covered his mouth again, then bent down and bit his shoulder, trying to ignore the cotton, dusty flavor in her mouth. Finally, she tasted just enough iron (and heard just enough muffled screaming) to know he was bleeding. “You got your one free lie in, asshole. Every time you lie to me again, you’ll lose something. Blood, fingers, legs...I’m not picky. Let’s try again. What’s your real name?"

“Marcus L-l-l-leForge,” he stammered. And Rena could only smell fear.

“Where’s the bomb, Marcus?”

“I didn’t plant the- AI!!!” Rena had cracked back two of his fingers until they snapped.

“Where’s the bomb, _Marcus_?”

“I don’t remember!” She covered his mouth again and although repulsed by the scent of his lie, Rena tore into his other shoulder, breaking the skin and probably giving him a serious wound under that thick sweatshirt. It was certainly bleeding fast enough. She sputtered out the dust and cotton and sweat taste while Marcus cried against her glove. She moved it so he could once again speak.

“Let’s try something else. Why did you do it, Marcus?”

“I didn’t...no, don’t hurt me! I...I just want to give smaller businesses a chance, you know? Paris isn’t about _malls_. It’s about history and boutiques!”

That wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth, either. Half-lies smelled like the charred, burnt remains of a lie, and he reeked. Rena growled in is ear. “This isn’t some act of patriotism, Marcus. This is millions of euros of damage and potential lives lost.”

“It’s what I can do! It’s all I can do, for the good of Paris!”

Rena’s miraculous beeped again. As interesting as it would be to continue discussing motive, and as nice of an article as it would make, she needed to put the pressure back on her purpose. “Where is the bomb?”

“I won’t tell you.”

“Oh yes,” she snapped two more fingers, “you will!”

“You can’t make me!” _Lie_.

“ _Where is the bomb_? Is it in the north-west corner?”

“I won’t tell- aiiii!” She dug her claws into his stomach until Marcus was spitting thickly, his spit smelling more and more like iron.

“I’d prefer if you spill your guts only metaphorically, Marcus. But I’m not picky, as I said. _Where is the bomb_?”

“Yes, it’s in the north-west corner. In a... children’s clothing store.” _Lie._

Rena dug her claws into his stomach deeper, shuddering to herself when it felt wet and out of instinct, pulled back a little bit. But it was still enough to make him groan and his knees shake. “Try again, Marcus. Stop lying to me!”

“It’s in a bathroom,” he sobbed, “the men’s bathroom. Third floor.” And he smelled like desperation, like pain, like terror, like an entire lifetime of stale deceit...but not one fresh lie. He smelled like he’d given up.

The moment Rena let go, Marcus collapsed to the chimney in a pile and tucked himself into the fetal position. Rena looked down at the crying man at her feet. The blood-soaked sweatshirt was stopping his shoulders from getting too bad and he was doing a good job himself with the stomach...but it was still a little too wet for her tastes. So Rena took his hand gently, not blaming him at all for screeching in terror and trying to pull it away, and placed it exactly where he needed to apply the pressure.

Rena hopped down a good two and a half meters from the top of the chimney to the roof...there was no way her little bomber could make that jump, in his poor state or not. She slid open her flute much faster than the first time she’d tried and called Chat Noir. He picked up politely, but in a whisper. Without sharing his greeting, Rena announced, “The bomb is in the men’s bathroom in the northwest corner, third floor.”

“Got it. Tell Ladybug to take care of the bomber. I’m on my way to the bathroom.” He hung up promptly...Rena could appreciate that efficiency. She looked down at her flute and her smile fell into a frown at the second face on the call screen. Ladybug would be much worse to talk to.

Still, she dialed, right as her miraculous chirped again. She was running out of time. Ladybug picked up in a stern whisper. Rena ignored and just gave her information. “Chat is on his way to the bomb. I’ve got the bomber. He’s on the roof of Rue Paulin Mėry and Rue Bobilliot.”

“He’s on the _roof_?! Rouge, what did you do?”

“I found the damn bomber and the bomb, now come get him like you promised! I have to recharge.”

“Already? Did you use your-” Rena hung up. She jumped a few roofs away and scampered down to the street, hiding in the shadow before she detransformed. Alya kept her eye up on the roof, looking between the shopping center and the building where she’d abandoned Marcus LeForge.

“Trixx, I got a bottle of cream in my bag. I know it’s not ice cream, but we don’t have time to stop for something better before imma transform again.” She didn’t even look at her kwami, waiting for the flash of red that meant Ladybug was there. Finally, she saw it, muttering, “Took her long enough.”

“She just barely got the call. You should go easier on Ladybug,” Trixx said, already guzzling their cream. Ladybug had already disappeared from view on the second rooftop. Alya looked over at the crowd from a distance. Now, they just had to wait for the all-clear from the bomb squad. She looked back at the roof where Ladybug disappeared and saw her, holding the bomber bridal-style. Alya ground her teeth. She wasn’t letting him go, right? She was just delivering him to the cops, right?

Thankfully, Alya was right. Ladybug wasn’t _totally_ insane. When Ladybug touched down, Alya had to adjust her position to see again, but she brought Pierre directly to a police officer that seemed to recognize her. She gently set the bomber on the ground and paramedics rushed to his side. Alya watched, curiously, as they put him on a stretcher and pranced around him, Ladybug gesturing wildly as she said _something_ to the police officer. After a minute of two of watching, Alya heard the loud, satisfied sigh from her kwami. “Alright. We’re meeting them again, right? I’m ready to go. But I’ll need real ice cream before we can make any illusions again...”

“I can work with that,” Alya said softly, stroking Trixx behind the ears. “You did a great job already. Trixx, transform me!” Alya shouted. Light exploded around them and turned Alya into Rena Rouge. She threw her head back and tossed her hair, then scampered up the roofs and to their meeting place. She was the first one there. Unfortunately for her, Ladybug was the second.

“Rouge, what the _fuck_ was that?!” Ladybug yelled. “You were supposed to contact me the moment you figured out who it was. Not...not beat him up and strand him on a roof where he could jump and kill himself!”

Rena stood up and put her hands on her hips. “What I _did_ was catch the guy, find out where the bomb was, and incapacitate him so he couldn't run away. And he would have run; he would have!”

“We’re lucky if he’ll ever run again, Rena.”

“Oh, please. I didn’t even touch his legs.”

“I didn’t mean literally. I meant...he isn’t a punching bag!”

“I was figuring out where the bomb was. Why is that a bad thing?”

A third voice broke through the screaming match. “And the kitty-cat saves the day _again_ . Thank you, ladies, thank you very much. Oh, of course, it was nothing!” Chat Noir grinned at them both and provided a giant curtsey. “I didn’t even have to cataclysm the bomb this time.” He tapped his head, adding, “ _Science_ . I’m...dare I say it...the _bomb_ at chemistry and reactions. But Rena, I have to thank you. That ticker was down to one minute when I got there.”

Ladybug and Rena had stopped yelling when Chat arrived, who appeared to be intentionally ignoring all the awkward, spiteful energy in the air. Rena stood a little taller at his praise. “So you’re glad I got the information out of the bomber?”

“Yeah, absolutely. I don’t think Ladybug and I could have pulled this one off without you!”

“Why, _thank you_ , Chat Noir.” Rena turned smugly to Ladybug. “Did you hear that?”

“I’m not deaf,” Ladybug grumbled. “But Chat, you should have seen what she did to the bomber!”

“What, to make him confess?”

“She tortured him! He’s missing a part of a shoulder, bleeding out the other one, has five broken fingers-” _oh, oops. I thought there were just four_ “-and serious injuries to his organs. She nearly killed him!”

“But I didn’t kill him,” Rena added sternly, defensively. “And what did the paramedics say? Is he close to dying?”

“Well...no...they said nothing was fatal.”

“And is he going to be able to recover?”

“They’ll know when he gets to the hospital. But they...weren’t worried.”

“And did we or did we not stop the mall from exploding _and_ catch the bad guy?”

“I could have cleaned up an exploded mall!” Ladybug fired back, suddenly shouting again.

Chat put a hand on her shoulder, shushing her with a, “Hey, hey. It’s better that you didn’t have to. You can’t clean up the memories of seeing the explosion, Ladybug. We caught the guy. We worked together.”

“She didn’t follow directions,” Ladybug muttered.

Rena rolled her eyes. “You’re not in charge of me, Ladybug,” she said. “I followed the plan and improved it. Nothing went wrong.”

Ladybug pouted. But Chat Noir draped an arm around her and purred out, “Master Fu would have been pleased.”

“Master Fu was a pacifist. He would _not_ have been pleased that the bomber is a bloodied pulp in an ambulance.”

“I meant with our teamwork, Mar-...My Lady.”

Who was this Master Fu guy they keep talking about? Would Trixx know? Rena looked over at Chat, appreciating deeply his attempt to protect her honor. So, she added her own peace offering. “I...probably wouldn’t have had time to stop the bomb alone, either. From what Chat said about only having one minute on the ticker. So...I guess we did do a good job.”

Chat laughed. “Geez, Rena. Don’t strain a meow-scle there.” He lightly punched her side and earned a smile. She didn’t know how this cat could put up with an asshole like Ladybug, but at least he would be there if they were supposed to work together again. “So, let’s call each other up for help more, you know? If we need it? It might be nice.”

“It’s not going to be nice,” Ladybug disagreed, folding her arms across her chest. “But it might be helpful. Rena, you have our contact in your flute now. We’ve got you in ours. Chat?” She turned to her partner and put out a fist, giving him an earnest smile. Rena watched as they bumped fists, cheering out “Bien Joué!” and laughed. Chat glanced questioningly at Rena, but Ladybug was sternly avoiding eye-contact.

Fine. She didn’t want to be part of their stupid, childish fist-bump tradition anyway. “I’m going home. My kwami and I need rest. I’ll let you know if I need help,” Rena said. She didn’t wait for a goodbye before bounding away through the air, dropping to transform back to Alya, and snagging a few quick quotes from the bomb squad people.

After a little work to get something worthwhile, Alya snuck away and transformed again...she’d rather pay Trixx in ice cream than pay for public transportation leaving something like this. It was nice to bound through the cool air and clear her head, but even nicer to slide in through the tight alley next to her apartment, scale the wall, and scamper into her open window. Alya dropped her transformation and opened the freezer, pulling out blueberry ice cream for Trixx and a slice of cantaloupe for herself. “Hopefully, Ladybug won’t actually call again,” she told Trixx, conversationally.

“Really? You hated working with her that much?”

“She’s a stuck-up prick, Trixx. Judgemental. Bossy.” She sighed and shook her head. “It’s kind of a shame, too. I mean, all of collège, I had the _hugest_ celebrity crush on her. I used to try and convince Manman [8] to take me with her on her conferences to Paris just to maybe get saved by Ladybug. Who would have thought I’d actually get along with Chat Noir better?”

“I’m sorry Ladybug isn’t what you wanted her to be,” Trixx said. They took a big bite of ice cream, then continued, “But you did set a pretty high bar. When you and I met, you immediately tried to be _just like her_ , remember?” Trixx grinned. “I work a little differently than her kwami, though. And so do you! And that’s okay!”

“It has to be okay. Ladybug was cool back then, when they fought all those akumas. She was a badass woman! But now, she’s just like…” Alya pulled a funny face and waggled her head side to side. In a high, mocking voice, she said, “Oh, look at me, kissing babies! Oh, watch me save children from these fires! Oh, I won’t punch a shoplifter. He might actually be a _good person_. Like I am! Love me! Put me on a magazine cover! Name a street after me! I’m such a good person, blah-di-blah-di-blah.” Her voice dropped to normal. Alya tucked a curl behind her ear. “I don’t want to be like that. I want to be the badass Rena Rouge who gets shit done. And the badass Alya Césaire who writes about it!”

“That's right, girlfriend! You got a lot of good content tonight. Your article is going to blow Henri’s mind.”

“Yeah, I should write notes before I forget any of the stuff I didn’t get on the recorder,” Alya agreed. “And since _Ladybug and Chat Noir_ were there, it might actually get more attention than the last piece I tried to submit about Rena’s work.”

“Hey, they’re all idiots for not appreciating you yet, Alya. And I mean as a writer and a hero. You’re amazing!”

“They’re all just distracted by _Ladybug_ ,” she said, venom in her voice at the other hero’s name. “I wouldn’t mind fighting side-by-side with Chat Noir again. That boy has a sense of humor, isn’t a total bitch, and he’s pretty cute. But Ladybug?” She tore into her cantaloupe and rolled her eyes. “Bossy, rude, _way_ shorter than I expected, doesn’t take criticism, doesn’t try to actually defend her city, and totally stuck-up.”

Trixx raised their eyebrow. “You sure do have a lot of thoughts and feelings about Ladybug, Alya,” they said with a sly voice.

“Because she’s a bitch. I have a lot of thoughts about bitches. I normally give them stitches.”

“Speaking of stitches...what _do_ you think of her new suit? A little different than the one she had when you and I met.”

“I mean, it’s more flattering, if that’s what you want to know. There’s more maturity to it.”

“Do you think it’s sexy?” Trixx asked, waggling their tail suggestively.

“Sexy? Trixx, I hate the girl!”

“Yeah, but do you think she’s _sexy_?”

“You don’t even know what that word means.”

Trixx left their ice cream on the table, zooming around Alya’s head. “I’ve lived with you for ten years, Alya. I think you’ve taught me what sexy means.”

Alya laughed. “Well, that’s very flattering, but you’re not my type, Trixx. I go for people that are actually humans and a _little_ bit bigger than you.”

“You jerk! I mean that I know your type!” Trixx laughed and landed among the bushy curls on Alya’s head. They crawled to her forehead and looked down at her eyes. “And I think Ladybug is your type. You don’t have to like her, but admit it! She’s your type!”

“She normally would be, if she wasn’t an absolute chipie[9],” Alya admitted. “Now can we stop talking about Ladybug before I get sick and can’t eat? Let’s talk about how badass we were tonight. I mean, breaking up a huge heist? Just _randomly_ stumbling on that? Even without the bomb, we rocked tonight, Trixx!”

“Because _you_ rock, Alya,” Trixx said. They slid down to Alya’s shoulder and nuzzled her cheek, then darted back to the ice cream. “When Ladybug figures that out, maybe you two will actually get along.”

“Don’t bet on it,” Alya disagreed. She finished her cantaloupe and dropped the rind in her in-apartment compost bin. “It’s late, bud. We should go to bed. I want to get to work early for any edits on that electrical grid article. And write up a nice, full outline of the bomb piece for the pitch meeting at 9 am.”

Trixx whined. “I hate waking up early. Foxes are _nocturnal_ , Alya.”

“Do your dishes and go to bed, Trixx. We’re getting up like it or not. It’s been a long day!”

Instead of replying, Trixx’s eyes went wide and they buzzed a little in place. Then, they shuddered. “Uh, Chat Noir just tried to call you. That was really weird. I haven’t felt that for a century and a half.”

Alya blinked in surprise. “Really? What did he say?”

“I can’t understand the words of the message, just the feeling behind it. But he’s happy. He thinks something is funny.” Trixx rolled their eyes. “From what I can tell, Chat Noir _always_ thinks something is funny. If you want to listen, we can transform and you can get your flute out. You did want to practice looking at its features!”

Alya threw off her clothes and pulled on a fresh pair of underwear, then climbed into her giant pile of blankets. Alya slept in what was practically a burrow of plush blankets and sheets. “Naw, I’ll listen in the morning.” She took off her glasses and put them next to the miniature bedroom set up for Trixx where she kept her phone and Trixx’s favorite book.

“ _What?_ You’re going to make me transform you _in the morning?_ ” Trixx whined, settling onto their doll-house bed next to the glasses and phone. “Alya, you’re killing me!”

“You gonna do your dishes, child?”

Trixx glared at Alya and hovered over to their tiny bowl. “See, this is why Ladybug doesn’t like you, Alya. You’re a bully.”

“Am not!” Alya laughed.

After washing the dish, Trixx turned off the lights and flew over to Alya’s exposed head. “You’re right. You’re not. You just boss me around.” They cuddled against Alya’s face and Trixx’s soft tail tickled Alya’s ear, making her giggle just a little.

“So Chat’s call wasn’t urgent?”

“Didn’t feel urgent at all. It felt friendly. I think he just wanted to talk.”

Alya hummed pleasantly.Thoughtfully. “It’s weird, having a friend. I mean as Rena. Rena doesn’t talk to anybody.”

“Do you like it so far?” Trixx asked. Apparently, they had decided to sleep with Alya tonight. Not that she minded.

“I think I might. Maybe I can hang out with him without Mademoiselle Stick-up-her-ass. You know, they publically dated after Le Papillion was defeated and they came back into the public light again. But I don’t know what Chat Noir ever saw in her to begin with…”

“Probably that fine butt you kept checking out, Alya. The one with the stick in it? You seem _so sure_ there’s a stick in it.”

“Trixx, I am going to kick you out of this bed.”

“You love me too much to do that!” Trixx fought back. As if asserting their confidence, Trixx marched around in a circle on Alya’s hair and bunched it left and right, arranging the perfect sleeping spot. They bunched a particularly tight curl like a pillow and wrapped their tail over their body. “Goodnight, girlfriend!”

“Goodnight, Trixx.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Societé: "Society". This is the name of the section where Alya's articles go in "Le Parisien"; a very large and umbrella-y term in a newspaper.  
> 2café serré: a small, strong coffee. You wouldn't get a big cup of watered-down coffee like in America unless you specifically ask. The typical Parisian working adult breakfast is a café serré, a fruit, maybe a croissant. Typically served in ceramic cups so you can just finish it inside the boulangerie with the other commuters. Easy to eat on the go.  
> 3café crème: "Coffee with milk" Is a very popular Parisian working adult breakfast, too. You would drink it with a croissant, which you typically dip in your coffee. This would be a larger cup like Americans are used to. (Also, this is much closer to the child's version, which is warm chocolate milk and dipping your baguette or croissant in the milk.) Working Parisians would sit to eat this.  
> 4derche: one of MANY words for "butt". 'Derche' is a very familiar term...kind of like he's saying they're staying on their tushies?  
> 5punaise: Marseille for 'Frick'. Literally, it means "bug". Specifically a gross bug. In Marseille, "punaise" is used as an interjection- You may notice that "punaise" sounds a lot like "putain", which is "fuck". So she's using this word as if it was a softer version of "fuck"...which is why the hover text says "frick". But punaise is a noun and definitely means 'bug'. I'll be bringing this up later on, too.  
> 6que dalle: "jack shit". If you're unfamiliar with that English expression, it means "You don't do anything".  
> 7chienne: "bitch". Literally female dog. There are a lot of ways to insult a woman in French, a lot of words that basically translate to 'bitch'. But this one is the one that means 'female dog' AND is an insult, so Ladybug's using it because...girl fox, girl dog, bitch...  
> 8Manman: "Mom" in Créole French. You may recogonize it's similar to "Maman", which is "Mom" in France French.  
> 9chipie: "bitch", specifically one who is bratty or stuck-up. Remember how there's a lot of words for bitch?


	3. Princess Pout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am EXCITED to share this chapter. It's some of my favorite action I've written. (And it's mostly just action; no content warning needed this time.) I hope you enjoy it, too!

\--i--

The last week of June, during the beginning of the annual summer sales of France[1], Marinette typically stayed at her parents’ home instead of her own. Like most stores, T&S Boulangerie-Patisserie participated in the annual sales...but they didn’t need to worry about steep mark-downs to attract crowds. Put up a sign for even just 5-10% off and hungry shoppers would flood their doors. They opened earlier to serve breakfast and coffee, stayed open later to offer sugar-rushes, and in general sold insane amounts of coffee and croissants.

This year, they were offering 20% off a box of macarons (including their specialty Ladybug/Chat Noir boxes), already one of their top-sellers. Sabine was very excited about this idea, calling it a ‘door-buster’, and talking on and on to anyone who would listen about everything she’d read and seen about how ‘door-busters’ worked. This included telling her daughter and husband as they piped more and more and more macaron cookies for the oven.

“Maman, can we talk about _anything else_ ,” Marinette finally groaned. “I like coming home for Soldes, I like catching up with you both, but if you’re going to talk about economics and salesmanship every day, I’ll get my headphones. I will! I get enough of this salesmanship, advertising talk at work this time of year.”

Tom was mixing fillings off to the side and looked over his shoulder. “Mon petit, you could have brought Adrien with you today. He could help, and then your mother would be too distracted to talk about business practices!”

Sabine took the bait of a changed conversation, working and talking swiftly. “Oh, that would have been _wonderful_. Where is that boy? Why isn’t he here?”

“I’m sure he’ll join us some nights, Maman. But it’s the end of the year...he has to prepare his students for the bac and términale. He’s at home grading review packets.”

“Well. At least he has an excuse...but he isn’t off the hook!” Sabine said firmly. “You both have family responsibilities! And he spends far too much time working on school things.”

As much as her mother liked to pretend otherwise, Adrien was not _actually_ her son. He could have been; Tom and Sabine had looked into adoption after Gabriel’s verdict dissolved his legal right to parent and Nathalie’s contracted guardianship. They didn’t care that Adrien was almost an adult... he needed parents. But Tom and Sabine knew better than to make siblings out of two dating teenagers. And so, their parenthood was everything except legally binding. Still, it was a little amusing how seriously Sabine and Tom took their chosen roles. “You remind him that we will need help when he’s available, alright? Now, Marinette...will you be helping us out in the morning tomorrow, too?”

“You mean in the store? With all the crazy first day shoppers? Maman, that would be _terrifying_.”

“Oh, it’s fun! And who knows...maybe you’ll meet someone?”

Tom laughed. He turned around and waved a spoon of filling at Sabine. “I don’t think _tomorrow_ is the best time for them to meet, Sabine. It’s going to be too busy!”

Marinette narrowed her eyes and paused in her cookie piping. “Meet someone? Maman, Papa, what are you implying?”

Tom grinned. “Keep piping those cookies, Marinette. Your mother is just...hoping you’ll run into someone, that’s all.”

Following directions, Marinette piped a few more cookies. But not without a giant sigh and rolling her eyes. “Maman, is this about that girl who orders ice cream every morning?”

“Ice cream and café serré. So you know she takes life seriously and works hard _but_ she still likes to have fun. And has a sense of humor!”

“Maman, I’m not going to date somebody just because they’re good business patrons for you two!”

Sabine frowned. “Well, you should date _someone_ . You’re twenty-four, Marinette! I’m not expecting you to be married or anything. Papa and I didn’t get married until later than that, of course. But you haven’t dated anyone seriously since Kagami, and that was _years_ ago, and I just want to make sure you’re happy. Why not be happy with such a sweet person like the ice cream girl? She’s very pretty. And she’s new in Paris! You could show her around.”

“Do you even know her _name_ , Maman?”

“Please, I keep my relationship with my patrons very professional,” Sabine answered smartly. Tom and Marinette both laughed out loud at that.

“Maman, I will not work tomorrow morning because I hate the first day of Soldes. And our label is going to be very busy watching trends and reception this first week anyway, so I want to be at my actual job early.”

“But…?”

“But I will be very helpful here, in the kitchen, behind the scenes. And maybe _some_ mornings. Now, when does ice cream girl get her breakfast again?”

“Roughly 7 am.”

Marinette piped another cookie, squeezing the last out of her piping bag. “Then I can help you at 7:30.” She winked and laughed as she narrowly avoided the teasing swat of her mother.

Marinette was on her way to get a new piping bag when she felt a vibration in her apron pocket. Her phone was in her jeans, but Tikki liked to ride in the apron and catch any batter that might fly. She paused and looked down at Tikki, who met Marinette with her big eyes and gave a stern nod.

“Oh, Maman, Papa, I’m so sorry. I just remembered I...have to finish sewing something before tomorrow. I have to go right now!”

“Mon cœur, is it because I’m teasing you? Because we’ll stop! I swear, I won’t even bring up how much you’re going to love Mademoiselle Ice Cream’s hair.”

“Maman, you’re terrible at not teasing, did you know that? And no, it has nothing to do with that.” Marinette was already hanging up her apron and Tikki had already transferred into her shirt. “I just have to go sew this one thing really fast! I forgot that I left it at the apartment.”

Tom spoke up, a little concerned. “You know, ma petite, you can do your projects in the guest room while you’re here. Maman and I don’t mind-”

“Bye, Maman! Bye, Papa! See you tonight! Or I won’t, don’t wait up...I’ll see you later for sure!” She pressed a quick bisou to each of their cheeks and darted out of the kitchen as fast as possible, taking the side alley exit.

Once the door shut behind her, she transformed into Ladybug and flipped open her yo-yo, listening to Chat’s message. It was short and clear and obviously urgent with a lot of whooshing air behind him. “Car chase in La Défense. Rena called it in. Everything’s going really fast, so follow the helicopters!”

“Aw, damn it, _Rouge_ called it in?” Ladybug griped. Still, she had her duty. So she swung up and started the long, long journey out of city limits to the business department of the Paris metropolitan region. She and Chat didn’t normally travel that far out of city limits, but Rena Rouge apparently did. And in the past two weeks since the bomb incident, Ladybug had seen just about enough of Rena Rouge.

Frankly, _any_ of Rena Rouge would have been enough. But they ran into her once by happenstance at an arson, Chat insisted on calling her with a runaway train, and she’d called on _them_ for a shooter threat at L’Hotel de Ville. Three times in two weeks? Ladybug and Chat Noir had only been out and about nine times in the past two weeks as it was...this was too much!

Ladybug soared over the roofs, wondering vaguely if she’d even make it to La Défense while there was still a car chase to end. But soon enough she saw and heard the helicopters over highway N13. She changed course and kept going.

As Ladybug soared lower, she caught sight of the commotion. An armored truck was driving at ridiculously high speeds, weaving around cars of innocent drivers. Helicopters chopped above the scene and police cars wailed, and just over the highway she saw the familiar pounces of Chat Noir...and Rena Rouge. They were pouncing from street lamp to street sign, desperately trying to keep up with or cut off the car. Ladybug flung her yo-yo ahead of them, pulling herself to their side.

“Hey, Chat!” she shouted, swinging to keep them all moving. “What’s his deal? Do we know?”

“It’s a...hijacker,” Chat replied between pounces. “Rena got ...wind just when the ...high-speed chase... started.”

Ladybug nodded, but she wasn’t sure they could see as they sprinted through the air. “I’ll try to lasso him,” she offered. Ladybug darted a bit farther ahead and tossed her yo-yo...but the car was too fast. She swore.

While pouncing, Rena shouted at her, “It’s not that easy... Ladybug! Or we wouldn’t ...need your help!... I think we... should trap them…. Chat breaks a road,... I create an illusion,... you do...whatever the hell you do.”

“Fine,” Ladybug snapped. “He’s almost to the bridge over Square Gallieni. Do it there!” Ladybug soared closer to the side of the armored truck- it was from a bank. Of course. She tried lassoing one more time...and caught it! Ladybug’s eyes lit up in joy, but she didn’t have time to brace herself against anything and was soon trailing like a kite off the back of the truck. Ladybug screamed, but her partner and Rena Rouge had already departed to put their plan into action. All Ladybug could do was reel herself in to the roof of the truck.

Striding on top of the vehicle, careening side to side and trying to shake off the police, Ladybug had a good vantage point. A very bumpy, nauseating vantage point, but still a good one! So as the runaway truck soared up and onto the highway bridge, she was first to see Chat Noir drop significantly ahead of them with his claw already bubbling. The moment he hit the ground, it rose up like an earthquake, black and crumbling in a tidal wave of asphalt.

The truck careened to the side, but the driver was clearly adept at these kinds of turns, because it didn’t tip and fall. Instead, he drove forward...directly off the bridge. Ladybug screamed in terror, certain she and the driver were about to die, when it landed on a wrong-way street circling Défense Plaza. It may have been that the driver planned to drive on this wrong-way street except that he and Ladybug saw directly ahead of them a giant wall. When did La Défense put a giant, brick wall in the middle of the road?! Oh...was that Rena Rouge’s illusion?

Avoiding the illusion of a wall, the driver made another sharp turn and bounced the curb, milled down the fences, and drove directly through the park of Square Gallieni. Ladybug steeled herself, bracing for impact, but they swerved around every tree and ran over the exit barricade as well, rocketing back onto a smaller side street.

She could still hear sirens, but the police weren’t ahead. Chat Noir had used his ability and was nowhere to be seen, as was true for Rena. It was time to wrap this up, before he got too out of hand. Ladybug found enough stability to throw a hand in the air and scream “Lucky Charm”, praying that Tikki would drop it where she could catch it, even rocketing forward at 135 kmh in a busy city.

But Ladybug was lucky, and her Lucky Charm managed to drop right into her hand. A...bowling ball? As it fell in her hands, Ladybug grunted, the weight of the ball dropping her right to the car and flipping her feet up. In fact, it dented the roof.

Ladybug looked around the seemingly black and white world, looking for a solution. She saw it in the drivers window. Ladybug grinned. Now was the time to test her strength and see if those arm workouts were worth it. She lifted the ball to her waist, experimentally tossing it in her arm, and felt the full force of the speeding wind against her body, threatening to push her back. They were about to drive around the aggressively tall Tour Majunga, so Marinette knew there was a decent straight road ahead.

She braced herself for the turn, steadied herself for her motion, and as the car slowed _just_ enough to turn, Ladybug chucked the bowling ball directly ahead and jumped into the air. Just as planned, her throw hardly took the ball anywhere, but with the truck’s windshield meeting a 7 kilo bowling ball at well over 130 kmh, even the bullet-proof glass puckered and broke and the driver leapt out of the way.

With her jump and by spreading her wings, Ladybug caught enough momentum and air to flutter safely behind the car. Without the driver’s full attention, having just made a very dangerous, sharp turn, the armored truck began to spin out and squeal, finally crashing into the steel and glass walls of Tour Ariane. Ladybug touched down on the ground (it was _hot_ from the speeding tires) and could hear the sirens plainly again. She ran towards the vehicle, and she wasn’t the only one. In an orange blur, Rena Rouge pounced out from above them and also made a break towards the vehicle...and the driver inside, no doubt.

The hijacker pulled herself out of the car and tried to run the opposite direction as Ladybug, not knowing she was running right into a bloodthirsty fox. Rena bared her fangs and screamed, holding her flute out like a samurai sword and slicing it as the hijacker got too close to her, knocking the hijacker’s feet from underneath her and flipping her higher into the air. The criminal fell hard and fast onto the asphalt, landing head first.

Ladybug screamed, but her scream was not at all like the battle-cry heard moments earlier. “Is she dead?!” Ladybug screamed out again, continuing to run forward.

Rena bent down, concentration plain on her face. She applied her fingers to her pulse and shook her head. “She’s unconscious. She’s not moving, but she’s not dead. I think she’s just the getaway driver,” Rena said, picking up a buzzing, screaming, walkie-talkie from the girl’s front pocket. “I don’t think she’s behind this one.”

Ladybug looked around as the wailing sirens got closer. “I don’t see Chat. He must be recharging his kwami. Don’t you have to do that, too?”

Rena looked down at her miraculous, blinking on its last tail light. “Putang, yes, I do. Ladybug, do not, do _not_ fucking let her escape,” Rena commanded, threateningly shaking her flute towards the crumpled girl.

“She’s unconscious; it won’t be a problem,” Ladybug deadpanned. Rena nodded at her and ran off. With the driver caught and the commotion over, Ladybug could take a moment to watch Rena’s lithe body sprint and her tail shimmy as she disappeared to go hide. God, she hated that she was attracted to her. She really, _really_ hated it. And her. She hated her, too...but at least today they’d worked together without a screaming match.

With Rena gone, Ladybug instead glanced around the scene. The road was torn up from the car chase and to the distance, she could see where Chat Noir had literally destroyed the entire highway entrance bridge. The park was a mess with grass and dirt everywhere, fences bent, signs knocked over, and all around them many, many dented cars. The police had done a good job evacuating the drivers, but the cars left on the street had no chance. And then of course, there was the skyscraper to her left. Ladybug looked over at the Tour Ariane and the glass scattered all over the ground, metal bent, and water spraying from something. “At least that was the ugly one,” she muttered, glancing again at the lovely Tour Marjunga to her right.

Finally, the police cars squealed to a halt in front of her. Officers ran out, guns drawn until they saw Ladybug was standing over the unconscious hijacker.

“Do we need to call an ambulance? Your friend do this again?” The police also seemed to be growing tired of Rena Rouge...Ladybug and Chat Noir always handed them criminals in perfect condition. Whenever _that fox_ intervened, it was like handing over a bag of pulverized meat.

“I don’t think she needs an ambulance. She’s just unconscious,” Ladybug offered.

“Alright, so...we can cuff her then. Thanks, Ladybug. You saved us again,” an officer said. He and his partner walked over to the hijacker and sat her upright, talking amongst themselves. Ladybug watched somewhat impatiently as the police stalled and heard her earring beep for a second time. Sure, three minutes was awhile, but it seemed like they were in no rush whatsoever. In fact, Ladybug even overheard one partner laugh to the other about the whiplash insurance agencies must get having Ladybug around...and that it might be fun to let them sweat for another minute or two.

“Uh, could you maybe cuff her? I have to clean this mess up before I go, obviously. La Défense isn’t used to this kind of thing,” Ladybug added, gesturing to her suit.

An officer turned around and grinned, waving her on. “Go ahead, we’ve got this.” He picked up one hand of the unconscious criminal and waved it towards Ladybug like a human puppet, then spoke in a weird, falsetto voice, “Go, Ladybug!”

So she went back to the car (apologizing to the officers marking evidence as she gingerly picked up the red and black polka-dot bowling ball). Ladybug screamed her own name and grunted in effort before tossing the ball directly overhead. As usual, it exploded into enormous waves of ladybugs. They swarmed around the building, over the road, around the park, over the bridge, around the armored truck, past that to the road destruction before Ladybug had even arrived, and wrapped themselves around the unconscious victim. Who awoke. And immediately punched both police officers square in the face, then took off running.

“I thought you said she was cuffed!” Ladybug yelped, losing any possible headstart in her shock. She didn’t even bother to look around at the repaired damage, instead repeating a string of curses as she took off on foot after the hijacker.

The woman was yelling something into her walkie-talkie and seemed to know this part of town very well. As Ladybug swung on branches and overhanging lamps to catch up (God, she missed the roofs of Paris proper. These buildings were much too tall to do her any good!), the hijacker still managed to make sharper turns, find new alleys, and slip away.

Ladybug ignored her next beep and kept running. They darted around the street until the hijacker slid on her legs down a shaft. Ladybug followed, ending up in a parking garage. She cursed again- it was too dark for her to see. She needed damn night vision for this!

But she could still hear and make out the shadowy shape of her prey. So Ladybug continued to sprint after the girl as she ducked past cars and around pillars, Ladybug swinging wildly around a pillar in a giant loop to try and catch her from behind. The hijacker ducked under Ladybug’s swing and then rolled underneath a car.

As if a car could protect her! Ladybug slammed her feet onto the ground behind it and grunting in effort, lifted the car up. But she apparently expected that, as the girl was already crouching and took off at a sprint towards another car. While Ladybug’s eyes were shut in exertion, the hijacker was breaking in and slamming the car’s door shut. It only took her a few moments to hotwire the car and Ladybug grasped wildly after it. The screech of the second stolen vehicle was so loud, Ladybug missed the first angry chirps of her last warning. She swore again, louder and more creatively this time, and pulled out her communicator. Chat was online, thank god.

“Chat!” Ladybug yelled. “I’m about to detransform. We’re in the Michelet parking garage. She has a car!”

“Are you kitten me? I thought you were done! I saw the Miraculous Cure!”

“She got away. Just go get her, Chat! I have to recharge!” Ladybug didn’t even hang up on him on purpose...her yo-yo just dissolved in a glittering flash of pink light as she was forcibly transformed back into Marinette.

Marinette, who crashed to her knees in hot, angry sobs. _Pull yourself together, Marinette! You’ve got to keep going!_ Marinette dug for a chocolate out of her purse and thrust it into her shirt pocket where Tikki was moaning in exhaustion. With giant, shuddering breaths, Marinette wobbled her way towards a car. But when she leaned on it, the car just furiously screamed back with its security alarm. The noise made Marinette scream and leap into the air, flailing her arms around.

Her tears returned and Marinette collapsed to sit on the floor. She kept thinking about what Rena Rouge had said and how it was _her fault_ this girl got away. She was so stupid. So stupid! She could have lassoed her. She could have cut her off, or kicked her flat. She could have called for backup immediately. She could have called for a police barricade! She could have hit her with the yo-yo and knocked her out again, even.

Instead, Marinette was crying on a parking garage floor while Chat Noir chased the second stolen vehicle of the night. At least this one wasn’t armored and filled to the gills with stolen goods.

It took Marinette a good five minutes to compose herself. Tikki was recharged and ready to go before she was. But Ladybug _never_ failed. Never! She stood up and shook herself, then adjusted her bun just slightly. “Tikki, do you know how they’re doing?”

“Chat Noir and Rena Rouge?” Tikki asked in confirmation.

“Yeah. I assume they aren’t sitting around crying,” she said with a self-deprecating snarl.

“Marinette, I can’t tell what they’re doing unless they specifically try to call you. That isn’t my ability. And don’t be hard on yourself! Let’s just go catch up!”

“You’re right. Tikki, Transform me,” Marinette called, her voice a little uncertain. Still, the direction worked, and Ladybug stood once more in the parking lot. At least the car alarms had stopped. She jogged up and out the exit and started to look around for a sign of which way to go.

And then two very hard boots struck her in the back and knocked Ladybug into the ground. She grunted in pain and heard a terribly angry voice next to her head yell, “I thought I told you not to let her fucking _escape_!”

Thankfully, Rena Rouge didn’t stay on Ladybug’s back long. At least, not literally. She stepped off and Ladybug stood up, immediately on the defense and turned to face Rena. “I _didn’t_. She was in the hands of the police when she ran off!”

“How the hell did she run off when I left her unconscious with you, Ladybug?! You were just babysitting! She was practically a corpse! What the hell happened?!” Her chest was heaving in anger. Ladybug had to force her eyes off of the heaving chest and back to her eyes, which, unfortunately, were _also_ infuriatingly pretty.

“I was fixing the damn city!” Ladybug shouted back, gesturing at the perfectly pristine road behind them. “I used my Lucky Charm to clean it up so that we didn’t have all that damage! The stolen goods are safe...did you notice that?!”

“For now they’re safe. But you let the criminal get away!”

“She wasn’t even the leader. You said it yourself.”

“But she _got away_. You don’t let them get away, Ladybug! You have to...ugh! That’s why I knocked her out, so she couldn’t get away!” Rena was pacing now, squeezing her fists tight. With each time she turned around, her tail whipped around her body. “You’re useless!”

“Useless?” Ladybug laughed and stepped closer to Rena. “I was the one to stop her! I was the one to crash the car! I was the one to fix this entire mess!”

Rena spun on Ladybug and pressed a finger into her sternum. “You did not fix this entire mess, _punaise_ [2] , you made it worse!”

“How the hell did I make it worse? She doesn’t have any of the money now, does she?!”

Rena pulled her finger away but got even closer, practically spitting into Ladybug’s face, “She got away from us without a scratch. And with a new car, from what I’ve heard! She has no regrets, no damage to pay for...and worst of all, she’s _escaped_!”

“Then go look for her!” Ladybug screamed, waving a hand out to the distance. “Go get her! Why did you even come back here anyway? To yell at me?!”

“I will go get her! I will track her down and _catch her_ , which apparently I can’t trust you to do, and she’s getting a lot worse than falling unconscious this time.”

“Don’t take it out on her! She’s not even the ring-leader!”

Rena stepped closer, her toes now touching Ladybug’s. Her voice was low, seething, and breathy. “Oh, you want me to take it out on you?”

A sick part of Ladybug’s brain flashed to images of how Rena could take it out on her. She nearly grabbed her face and kissed her, just to prove dominance. So instead, Ladybug backed up and glared. “I want you to get a damn attitude adjustment and take your anger issues outside of Paris. We don’t need you.”

“You just lost a criminal!” Rena laughed back, pulling on her ears as if she couldn’t handle this anymore. “You lost a criminal and gave them someone else’s car and you think your city doesn’t _need me_?! You’re still fighting like a child, Ladybug! You’re a grown-ass woman! Act like it! God!” She released her ears and the sprung back into place. Rena whipped her flute out and shook it at Ladybug. “I’m finding that girl and her stupid-ass car. Don’t follow me.”

“I wouldn’t want to!”

“Don’t!” Rena snapped again, clearly determined to have the last word. She bounded onto the roof of the parking garage entrance and lifted her head up, like she was smelling the air. And then she ran off.

Ladybug spun around, muttering a string of swears as her wings twitched behind her. She was certain of one thing. She hadn’t hated a miraculous holder this much since Le Papillon. Well, that was a low bar. There weren’t exactly a lot of despicable miraculous holders.

She hadn’t hated _anyone_ this much since Le Papillon. She hated her sass, her anger, her judginess, her stupid face, her ears, her tail, her suit, her mask, her violent streak, her rashness, her flute, her...just...god! She hated everything!

A little fiercer than necessary, Ladybug thrust out her yo-yo to the nearest lamp post and swung towards her parents home. Glad, for once, that it was a long ways away in the cool air. And glad she could have cereal and chocolate milk for breakfast and no one would care.

\--ii--

The moment Ladybug touched down in her own bedroom at her parents’, she called Chat Noir and begged him to come to her old bedroom ‘once that stupid lady is caught’. Then she transformed back to Marinette and collapsed into an angry pile on the floor. Marinette muttered to herself and picked at the carpet fibers while Tikki sat at a safe distance, chewing her cookie and thinking.

Eventually, Marinette looked up and saw how far away her kwami was sitting. Tikki wasn’t on her desk like normal, but instead perched way up on Marinette’s old loft bed, well above Marinette. “Why are you all the way over there?”

“Because you’re angry right now, and I’m waiting for you to cool down. You can be a little scary when you’re angry.”

Marinette chanced a weak smile. “Tikki, you’re a millenniums old creature who can take down gods. You’re scared of a little grumpy girl?”

“If you saw what you were like when you were angry, you’d know the answer to that,” Tikki teased. Then, she looked up at the tapping over Tikki’s head. “I’m letting the cat in,” Tikki announced.

Marinette returned to picking at the carpet as Chat Noir pounced into her old room and leapt deftly to the floor. He sat close to his best friend on the rug in the middle of the floor and glanced around the room. “I still can’t get used to this arrangement,” he muttered. There was now a second bed where her desk used to be for guests unable to climb the ladder, although her parents left the other half of the desk. The chaise was in Marinette’s new room and where it used to sit there was a reading nook. The room had been partially repainted, now yellow and pink instead of just pink. And the walls were decorated in framed versions of Marinette’s designs, an homage to their favorite and only daughter’s success thus far, and a winking nod to the model that _used_ to cover those same walls. “I miss all the photos of us.”

“You mean the photos of you?” Marinette asked.

“Naw, I liked it best when you replaced those with photos of us. And some classmates and family and stuff, but mostly us.” Chat grinned and nudged her. “We were a good looking couple, Buginette.”

Marinette looked up, but stared at her wall and away from Chat Noir. “Did you catch her?”

“I caught up to Rena just before she cornered her at some motel room outside the city. Rena was ready to go bust her head open, but I convinced her to just help me return the car and trap her so the police could catch the entire gang.”

“I can’t imagine Rena Rouge would ever go for a plan like that.”

Chat frowned. “Well, she sort of did. I let her stand there watching the window and went to the motel’s office and called the police. Told them the whole situation, and I’m pretty sure they were on board with the stake-out idea. Then I drove the stolen car back alone and dropped it off in the parking lot. Left some change for gas. Rena set an illusion so I could get away, and then she told me she was setting up camp so the hijacker couldn’t escape. Hell, for all I know, she’s still there playing on her phone or something.” He thought for a moment and nodded. “I would play Extreme Racer Mobile. Keep in theme, you know.”

Marinette looked back at the carpet and huffed. She shouldn’t be mad that her teammate and Rena Rouge caught the bad guy (again). She shouldn’t. “How did you guys catch up to her anyway? Weren’t you on the other side of the city, practically?”

Chat grinned and scooted closer to Marinette. “Oh, man, that part was _so cool_ . Rena called me right after I recharged, right? Told me to come help her chase the hijacker down because you...well. Uh. She told me her side of the story. Anyway! I just followed her once I caught up, because she just...  figured it all out!  She could look at the road and the map and the trees and the buildings and just _know_ which way the car went. It was insane! And Mari, I don’t think that’s her miraculous ability, either. I think it’s her civilian ability. You know how we have talents that get heightened in our suits? Like, you’re super creative and think quick on your feet, but as Ladybug, you can figure out anything with your Lucky Charms! And I’m super good looking, but as Chat Noir, I’m full on _amazingly_ good looking. And I think Rena is probably really good at behavior analysis, or tracking down people, or-” Chat caught Marinette’s eye, daggers flying at him from her glance. “Or, y’know, I mean, wow, that Rena Rouge sure is terrible and has no cool abilities whatsoever.”

To her benefit, Marinette sputtered a laugh. Chat looked visibly relieved she wasn’t about to attack him. She threw her head back and stared at the ceiling. “Look, I’m really glad you guys caught the hijacker. She just makes me so...so... _so mad_!” Marinette pounded her fist on the carpet, startling Tikki and knocking her backwards off the bed railing.

“No, I get it, Mari,” Chat promised, taking her hand and giving her such a soft, understanding look. “We thought we were doing just fine on our own, but she comes in and makes you feel…”

“Useless,” Marinette finished.

“Yeah. I mean, no, no! No! Ladybug, no! You’re not useless. I meant she makes you feel like we aren’t as special. She’s _also_ been saving her city for years, just...with a different...style.”

Marinette looked back at Chat, muttering, “I hate her style.”

He laughed and moved a piece of her bangs. “I know you do. Because you didn’t even like punching akumas when you knew they were mind-controlled and would forget everything right afterwards. Marinette, you are a different kind of badass. You get things done. You look for solutions. You fight for the little guy. And you see the good in the bad, you see the little guy in even the biggest bully.”

“Well, I mean, we saw _all kinds_ of people get akumatized. Good people, like Mlle Bustier, who need protection. Even school bullies like Chloé would have bad days; you _know_ how much those akumas hurt her, so it’s not fair to call them the bad guy when they were just victim to Le Papillon, and…”

Chat laughed, “Mari, you even managed to find something redeemable about _him_.”

“Well, he’s your father,” she offered.

“See? That’s what I mean. We’ve had different experiences than Rena Rouge. I really doubt she had the experience of discovering her arch-nemesis and the reason behind all of the pain and suffering in Marseille ended up being her professional idol and the father of her boyfriend slash best friend slash partner,” he paused to dramatically inhale and continue, “- in whom her partner was constantly seeking approval never received," a pause to inhale, " _and_ that the purpose behind all of that fucked up shit was so that father could bring back the person he loved, thereby causing Rena and her nameless partner to be not only fighting against his dad,-” another pause to inhale “- but also fighting to prevent the return of his own mother and potentially setting herself up for a lifetime of grudges and uncomfortable interactions and knowing she was the cause of a broken family.”

Marinette squeezed Adrien’s gloved hand while he dramatically took several deep breaths. Years of counselling, months of hanging up his suit, and a decade of friendship, support, and conversations had finally helped him live with what they’d done to his family in lycée. It didn’t make it comfortable or easy, though. But Marinette knew that this time, at least, he wasn’t fishing for his own feelings to be validated. If anything, he was trying to lighten the mood. “I think I’m probably her arch-nemesis right now,” Marinette said.

Chat Noir laughed again. “Yeah, then if she _has_ gone through that experience, you’ve got a lot of explaining to do, Marinette. Fathering Rena Rouge’s partner? That’s news to me.” Marinette giggled. Silence. And then she rested her head on his shoulder. “You don’t have to like her, Marinette. I don’t know if you ever will. And that’s...I think that’s okay. We just have to work together.”

Marinette was quiet. She nuzzled closer to Chat. She missed when he was her only partner. “I don’t wanna do that, either,” Marinette whined.

\--iii--

Alya wasn’t off to a great start of July. That night with the hijacker near the end of June was already bad...Alya sat outside the motel for hours, hiding both from the police and from the hijacker, until the hijacker’s backup came around 3 am. She transformed into Rena Rouge, soundly beat the shit out of the hijacker (maybe she was taking a little pent-up frustration out on the woman, but who could blame her?) and followed the police cars full of trapped gang members all the way to the precinct before going back home...and then turning around just two hours later to stumble into her office.

An office which still wasn’t giving her the stories she wanted. True, her bomb article had found a respectable page, but instead of hard-hitting news, Alya had been handed assignments to write about the _Soldes_. Didn’t they have other Societé page people who actually liked writing about that shit?

At least it gave her something to do for July. At least she had an excuse to leave Ladybug and Chat Noir when they needed each other’s help. Ladybug just got worse and worse, it seemed. She _always_ wanted the last word, she _always_ wanted to jump in and say something first about a strategy, she _always_ claimed to know Paris best.

Even just the little things about Ladybug pissed her off. The way she furrowed her brow pushed her mask together and it looked infantile. Her wings were loud and annoying when they sprang out to help her glide. The way she chewed her lip when she thought was aggravating, and it made her lips look plumper and pinker and that was stupid. The way she flailed her arms looked immature. The way her antennas would move from hanging limp under her bun to curling up and over her head when she was figuring something out, or stand at attention when she was scared for Chat’s life. Real antennas didn’t do that! It was dumb! And it certainly wasn’t _cute_!

And over the course of July, from the time of the start of sales up until the weekend after Bastille Day, Rena had fought with Ladybug and Chat Noir nine different times on six different days. She would have been _fine_ to fight with just Chat. But those two were inseparable. God, hadn’t twelve or so odd years of working together been enough? And from what Chat had said, she knew that they _lived_ together, too. They clearly weren’t romantically entangled anymore, but still. How could he put up with that absolute bitch?

Alright, so this probably wasn’t the best headspace for Rena as she darted through Paris alleys and over rooftops to catch up to Chat Noir. He had just asked for her help finding a kidnapped child and most definitely, Ladybug would be there, too.

Chat was waiting for Rena on the roof of a very old Catholic church next to Sacre-Cœur, all the way in Montmatre. And Rena tried to hold back her expression of disgust that Ladybug was waiting there, too. “Hello, Chat Noir. Punaise.”

Chat dove directly in to catch up Rena as quickly as possible. “The kidnapped little girl was last seen here, about 20 minutes ago. Her mother was shopping in the Place du Tetre and believes she was kidnapped by her birth-father. We’re looking for his car- a white Renault van, pretty nondescript, license plate ‘France, AV-229-ET’. Alsace region...67, I think.”

Rena’s eyes widened in surprise. “Alsace? Do you think he’s taking her all the way there?”

Ladybug shook her head. “We’re not sure. Probably not. But at least the region will be unique...there aren’t that many vans driving around from Alsace. You know what the flag looks like, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, I passed collège, Ladybug. I know what the region’s flag looks like,” Rena snarled.

Ladybug glared at her. “I just wanted to make sure we’re all looking for the same thing!”

Chat groaned and pulled them apart. Rena hadn’t even realized she’d stepped closer to Ladybug. “Ladies, please. There is a little girl to worry about. Rena, we know you’re really good at tracking, so we called you in. The police are all on the lookout for the car, but we want to follow you.”

She glanced carefully at Ladybug, who was pouting and avoiding eye-contact. “‘We’? Even Princess Pout over here?”

Spinning on Rena, Ladybug spat out, “I can at least appreciate other people's’ talents and abilities, okay? Just track the damn kidnapper, Rouge.”

Rena stood a little taller, her ears twitching in a moment of pride. “Alright. Let’s go. Do we know what direction they left in?”

Chat shook his head. “No one even saw them leave. But they saw the car before she disappeared and the mom recognized it as her ex’s. They’ve been canvassing the area.”

Backing up, Rena turned to look around the area. There were plenty of police cars, of course, but no clear sign of where the kidnapper went. She bounced over to the white domes of Sacre-Cœur, Chat and Ladybug following, and grabbed hold of a spire to look every which way. Really, Ladybug and Chat Noir were bad influences on her. People would begin to notice a bright orange fox-woman on top of a pure white hilltop landmark.

She inhaled deeply, but there were way too many people milling about and way too many religious people for her to smell any one particular deception. “We might have to start with looking into all the white vans,” Rena admitted.

Ladybug snorted. “Oh, great. I’m _so glad_ we called you over to tell us _that_.”

“You got a better idea, Lady Luck? Do you just want to try and _happen_ upon them? I can spiral out from here and try to catch a scent, but I haven’t seen the kidnapper. I don’t know what I’m looking for, I don’t know his motive...you got a better idea?”

“Maybe if we hadn’t wasted six minutes waiting for you to arrive, Chat and I would have already found him!”

“Well, whose fault is that choice, huh?”

Chat hissed. They both looked up, surprised at the angry noise. “Stop fighting! Okay, Rena, you spiral out. Ladybug and I will start inspecting vehicles right along behind you so we can stay together. Let’s go!”

“His plan, I can deal with,” Rena muttered. She bounded off of the basilica and started to run along the roofs of Montmatre, looking around for suspicious vehicles and people. Hopefully, once they got a little farther out, there would be less distracting deceptions in the air...at this point, she was better off looking with her eyes instead of her nose.

But as minutes ticked by, Ladybug was getting more annoyed and frustrated. “We’re not even two kilometers away from the kidnapping site, Rouge. I’m positive he’s not this close still!”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” Rena snapped. “I’m looking for the way he went! It’s too crowded at the kidnapping site!” She leapt over Rue Blanche and darted along the roofs, looking desperately around her.

“This isn’t efficient,” Ladybug complained, following quickly behind.

“Then summon a damn GPS or something, Punaise.”

“That isn’t how my Lucky Charm works. I don’t get to pick the object; it’s just whatever is most applicable! But if we’re not even nearby, it probably won’t help!”

“If you don’t have any ideas,” Rena growled, leaping with particular force over the wide streets at Place Blanche and scattering a roof tile as she landed on the significantly lower roof of the Moulin Rouge, “Then ferme ta gueule!”[3]

“You don’t have to be so rude,” Ladybug yelled, antennas back. She threw her yo-yo and it wrapped around Rena’s tail, making her squawk in surprise and fall flat as Ladybug scampered over her and onto the roof. It may have been an accident, it had looked like Ladybug was aiming for the giant fake windmill, but Ladybug looked far from ready to apologize.

Rena stood up and stamped closer to her, waving a gloved finger in Ladybug’s pissed-off face. “What was that, Ladybug? Watch where you throw that thing! You could have pulled me to the ground!”

“I wouldn’t have done that, Rouge,” Ladybug snapped back. “I can handle my weapon!”

“You sure haven’t convinced me,” Rena scoffed.

“I don’t need to hear that from someone who didn’t even figure out how to _open_ hers after ten years,” Ladybug spat, turning smartly. Rena saw red. As Ladybug spun around, she reached out and grabbed an antenna, tugging it backwards. “Ai!” Ladybug shrieked, spinning and smacking Rena hard across the face.

“Oh, you wanna go? You wanna throw hands, _bitch_?!” Rena screeched, ears flicking back dangerously as she leapt into fighting stance. Ladybug looked ready to brawl, backing up and pulling out her spinning yo-yo. At least until Chat Noir dove between them both and extended his baton, separating the girls by nearly the spanse of the entire roof.

“What the hell, guys?! We are _trying to chase a kidnapper!_ Not get in a cat-fight! That’s my job! And it’s not for right now! Ladybug, can you just use your Lucky Charm?”

She looked at him, dumbfounded. “But Chat, we don’t know where they are yet!”

Chat groaned and ran a hand through his hair. “I know, but maybe your charm will help us find them. This isn’t going anywhere. Sorry, Rena, it was a good idea. But you two are too...too...immature to work together like this.”

At the same time, Rena and Ladybug both yelled, “I’m not immature; she is!”, then glared at one another for that accusation.

The windmill spun once, brushing Rena’s hair as it ticked by, just like the time they were wasting. Chat lowered his baton, shrinking it back to its normal size, and Ladybug groaned. “Fine, I’ll use my Lucky Charm. I don’t know how we’re going to get out of this, though!”

Chat nodded. “That’s exactly when you’re _suppawsed_ to use it, My Lady.”

So Ladybug looked sternly at Chat, glared once at Rena, and then threw her arm up in the air, yelling _way too loud_ for a Lucky Charm. But when one finally fell from the sky, a little red and black polka-dot pencil landed in Ladybug’s hand.

Chat’s eyes went wide. “Well, let’s not write it off as a bad charm yet.”

Ladybug glared down at the pencil. Rena curiously walked a little closer. She watched as Ladybug looked up from the pencil, eyes narrowed as she looked around. Her eyes lit up as she looked through the trees at a hotel across the street, then she continued looking around and stared right at Rena. It made her uncomfortable and she shuffled a little under her feet, glaring at Ladybug for good measure.

But then Ladybug stopped looking around all crazy and her posture dropped slightly. She stared down at the penil and back over at the hotel. “Rouge, it’s something about you...Do you think you need to….write something at the hotel? A letter?”

Clearly, since she was involved, Rena needed to cooperate. So she stepped closer and put a hand out. Ladybug handed her the pencil, avoiding physical contact as much as possible. Rena inspected it- red and black, but every inch a regular pencil. “So it’s me...and a pencil...and a hotel. That hotel? Specifically?”

Ladybug shook her head. “I don’t think so. If it was the entire hotel, the _entire hotel_ would have lit up for me. Only the word ‘hôtel’ lit up. So it’s probably...any hotel.”

Rena looked over at Ladybug and Chat Noir. “Is it always a tool, or sometimes a hint?”

“Sometimes a hint,” Ladybug confirmed.

Chat nodded behind her in agreement. Then he said, “So maybe they’re at a hotel, somewhere. Or near one? Rena, do you...live in a hotel?”

“What the fuck? No?! Who lives in a hotel?!”

Chat shrugged. “One of my really close friends lives in a hotel,”

Ladybug interrupted before Chat could explain more. “Okay, so have you visited a hotel? Is there one important to you around Paris?”

Rena shook her head, looking closer at the pencil. Hotel pencil. Hotel...pencil. Was it her directly? Or just something about her? Hotel...fox pencil? Hotel...Alya? Since she was a writer? Hotel...Hotel for writers? Was there a hotel for writing? No, that probably wasn’t it. “This was given to you, Ladybug. Right? So it’s supposed to be something _you_ can figure out, right?”

“Why? Do you have a hotel in your secret identity? That has to do with pencils?”

“No, I just…” so not the writer thing. Hotel...hmm. It was for Ladybug. So...hotel Enemy Pencil? _L’Hôtel Crayon ennemi_. No, it wasn’t that. How else did Ladybug see her? What did she call her?

Rena’s head snapped up. “Hôtel Crayon Rouge, near the Palais Royal. I know that place! They have this crazy, weird electric sign. That’s it! L’Hôtel Crayon Rouge!”

Ladybug swung her yo-yo, looking due south. “Then let’s go.” With no further bickering, the trio leapt from the Moulin Rouge roof back across the street and took off at full speed. They sped over rooftops, past monuments, over churches. They ran past the wails of sirens and shouts of Parisians, leapt over streets, and through multiple neighborhoods. Chat helicoptered from roof to roof, Ladybug swung from her yo-yo, and Rena leapt, her tail flapping in the wind and giving her just enough lift to cross the same wide streets. Eventually, they touched down on the long, imposing roof of the Banque de France.

Rena grinned to herself, hearing how her boots clanged along the tin roof, skidding to a stop as they stood across from the Hôtel Crayon Rouge. Immediately, her eyes went to the street. “Look for the white van. What was the plate again, Chat?”

“AV-229-ET. Alsace,” Chat rattled off. All three stared into the street. And then, turning right out of the side street Rue Coquilliere, they spotted a white van with the unique Alsace flag printed on its plate. “There!” all three shouted.

“I’ll whisker away!” Chat shouted. He held his baton aloft, eyes narrowed down at the car, and at just the right moment, Chat dove. His baton extended into the ground and he clung on top of it. Immediately, the white van crashed head-long into the baton, the front wrapping itself around Chat’s weapon and the force of impact flinging Chat off and into the distance.

Rena wiggled her tail and leapt over to the pole and slid down like a firefighter, quickly followed by Ladybug gliding down to the street. She didn’t need to ask Ladybug who should do what- Rena whirled around to the driver’s side and yanked the door open. Ladybug was busying herself forcing off the side door and climbing inside to save the small child.

“Aw, man, he’s already knocked out,” Rena whined. The kidnapper had blood trickling off his forehead from impact of the airbag, resting alive but unconscious as the bag slowly, slowly deflated. She heard Ladybug snort in laughter. So Rena defended, “Well, he’s a butthead! He kidnapped a little girl from her mom! I wanted to hit him!”

Ladybug tenderly picked up the crying girl and held her to her chest, then stepped out of the car. She looked over the smashed-up front at Rena. “Since when has that stopped you? And _butthead_? Really, Rena?”

Rena rolled her eyes and put a hand on her hip, the other hand gesturing to the little girl, still crying. “There are children present, Ladybug. Which answers _both_ questions, actually...he _is_ her father. I don’t want to have her watch me beat up her unconcious father.” Rena’s little twin sisters were seven years younger than her. Even with the girls in lycée now, she didn’t like swearing around them, or their baby sister still in Primarie.

Ladybug glanced at Rena in what she registered as surprise. But she was now bouncing the child up and down, turning her attention to the baby. God, Rena hoped Ladybug didn’t think she was some pushover around children. Even if it was a little true. She crossed her arms and pouted. “I’m still a bad-butt, though.”

Mid shushing the toddler, Ladybug sputtered another laugh. Rena glanced up at the sound of sirens, ready to run off. She could just barely make out Chat Noir running back to them. But another sound disturbed her first- Ladybug’s earring chirped for the fourth time. “Oh, zut,” Ladybug said quietly. Ladybug looked at the car, at Rena, towards the police, and obviously looked concerned.

“Go on, get out of here. Chat’s coming. He can help me watch the kid and the monster.” Rena offered.

Ladybug turned to see Chat, relief washing over her face. “Oh, thank god. Chat! Chat Noir!” she yelled. Chat hurried as fast as he could to her side and Ladybug thrust the little girl into his arms. “Hold her until the police come. I need to bug out.”

So Rena watched Ladybug lasso her way up and out of sight. She paused for a moment, glancing at Chat. “I really don’t want to…”

“Be here when the police arrive?” Chat asked, raising an eyebrow. He lifted the little girl to look at him who was now sniffling, a little more startled than scared. “We’re not surprised at that, are we, Mademoiselle? What’s your name, Mademoiselle?”

“Chat, she was _just_ kidnapped. Don’t be the weird stranger who asks her what her name is.”

The little girl put her arms out for Chat and hugged his neck. “Not a stranger. Cha’ Nwah! ‘M Clarice, Cha’ Nwah,” the little girl responded.

Rena froze, feeling a tightness in her throat. Her memory flashed back to the elementary school day, hugging kids, taking pictures, listening to them tell her, someone they had never met, that they loved her. And then the gunshot and the screams and…

“I gotta go,” Rena forced herself to say. “Chat, would you do a better job than your partner at making sure this butthead doesn’t get out of here? Chain him to a wall or something?”

Chat grinned. “Absolutely. I have a no-butthead-escaping paw-licy.” Rena grinned back at him. She was about to turn to go when Chat called back, “Hey, Rena. Want to get a drink after this? Wine on the Eiffel Tower?” Oh, god. Did he think…because she didn’t…  “We never get to talk to you. I know you’ve got this whole ‘mysterious vixen’ thing going on, but I want a chance to know who we’re running with, y’know? I’d ask Ladybug to come with to make it less of a one-on-one thing, but...you know...I’m not trying to start World War III over a glass of red.”

Rena laughed. “If it isn’t with dinner, I drink rosé. Or rum.”

Chat laughed at that. “Those are very different drinks, Rena!”

“Child, what can I say?” Rena grinned, moving her weight to another foot. “I’m a Caribbean-Marseille kind of girl. And my mood has a lot, _a lot_ to do with my choice, too.”

“Then what kind of day is today?” Chat asked, flicking his tail and tilting his head with a smile.”

“Rosé. And sure; I’ll meet you there, chaton.”

Chat grinned. “Meowvelous. See you there, Renardeau.” [4]

“Renardeau? Excuse me?”

“If you call me ‘chaton’, I can call you ‘Renardeau’, Rena.”

The little girl in Chat’s arms pointed at Rena, repeating after Chat and shouted “Renardeau! A li’l renardeau!”

If it weren’t for the sirens in her ears, Rena might have stayed a bit longer to fight that claim and defend her name. But as it was, she just shook her head and rolled her eyes. “You’re corrupting the youth of France, Chat Noir.”

“Oh, so you’ve met my fan club?” He laughed and, noticing Rena was getting anxious to leave, saluted. She shot finger guns back and turned, taking two practice hops before leaping onto a roof and taking off in the direction of the Eiffel Tower. Not exactly the most secret place, but...Alya could use a friend. And someone who understood what it was like to be a miraculous.

She thought maybe she’d finally found it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Soldes/sales: France doesn't have sales the way the USA does; lined up with random holidays, at whatever store's random decision, or packed into one intense day. Instead, they have two major seasons of enormous sales all across the country- the Summer Sales and the Winter Sales. They last about two months; this year's went from June 27-August 8. Stores can put individual things on discount, but it's a very different culture of buying things.  
> 2 punaise: insulting term, literally means "bug". Specifically a female-coded insult...so 'bitch' if 'bitch' meant "bug", not "dog". Isn't that GREAT?! You might remember last chapter Rena used 'punaise' to mean 'frick'. It's a flexible word.  
> 3 Ferme ta gueule!: Literally, "Shut your throat". It's a very rude way to say "shut up", but French has a LOT of variations and shades of saying 'shut up'...this is probably equal to about 'shut the hell up'. Pretty rude, nothing you would ever want to say in polite company, but not QUITE "shut the f*** up".  
> 4Renardeau: a fox kit or a baby fox


	4. Old Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter only has Alya's POV, but I promise, it's getting you geared up for something great next chapter. Besides, Alya is my queen and deserves a chapter to herself sometimes.
> 
> Also, we meet a new, old friend! (And in meeting said friend, there's gonna be more swearing than typical in this story. There's reason for it I promise, just warning you.)

\--i--

Just after sunrise a few days later...well, what _would_ have been sunrise... Alya found herself shuffling angrily through warm, summer rain from work towards her favorite boulangerie. Several red umbrellas in front of her sported black polka dots, making her grumble and pull her yellow rain coat tighter to her body. Stupid Ladybug. Following her on her morning routine.

Street vendors nervously covered their goods with clear plastic, still yelling out as they hawked their wares. Eiffel Towers, their own art, miniature Ladybug action figures, miniature stuffed Chat Noirs...Ladybug _on_ an Eiffel Tower...Chat Noir in the _shape_ of an Eiffel Tower… Okay, that one was funny. Alya paused and chatted briefly with the vendor, talking his price down to three euros and slipping the painted statuette into her bag.

But funny souvenir or not! There was too much damn Ladybug _everywhere_. Kids had her on their backpacks. Teenagers eager for early morning shopping pushing past in their summer clothes wore her on tank-tops. Alya was wet, she was tired, she was surrounded by red with black polka dots, and she needed her damn coffee.

Alya sighed in relief when she entered the boulangerie. The front half of the store was particularly crowded today, pedestrians like she standing to stay dry and out of the rain, muttering to one another as they sipped their coffee and dipped their croissants. Nothing like a warm cup to wake her up on a wet morning.

Before she realized what she was doing, Alya shook herself dry. But an angry reaction from the side keyed her in quickly. Embarrassed, she tried to stand a little taller and look nonchalant about the whole thing. “Good morning, monsieur,” she said, squeezing out her hair and trying to pretend she hadn’t just shaken dry like a dog. She could already feel frizz coming on...damn. She’d just have to rock that hairstyle instead.

Alya pulled her jacket up by the collar and strode into line, eyeing the pastries. With the Sales going on, the boulangerie was rotating their pastries much more frequently than normal. Along with their typical fare, they were offering Gâteau St. Honoré, Canalés, frozen profiteroles, and boxes on boxes of sale macarons. She peered closer a little curiously and… “Madame, _no_!”

The kind Chinese woman at the register quickly looked over at Alya. “Mademoiselle, what’s wrong?”

Alya looked at the cashier with wide eyes and a horrified face. “Not you too, Madame! The infestation! It’s hit your pastry shelves!”

Now curious enough to momentarily abandon her current customer (he was stalling anyway), she walked over and looked in. “What? What is it?”

Alya stabbed the glass with her finger and hissed, “ _Ladybugs!_ ” Under her gesture sat rows on rows of red macarons with little black spots. Next to them were black macarons with green cat faces baked right into the cookie.

The cashier laughed. “Oh, _that_ kind of infestation. Yes, she’s _very_ popular here. We love Ladybug and Chat Noir.”

With a sad face, Alya asked, “You do?”

“Well, of course, dear!” The cashier returned to her position and rang up the customer ahead of Alya, still talking to her instead of him. “They’ve been a fixture in our city for _years_ now, and they’ve done so much good. Tom and I were both each akumatized once. You really get life-long gratitude after someone saves you from the depths of yourself. But even after that awful Le Papillon was defeated, they’ve been so helpful. Ladybug has saved this boulangerie more times than I can count.”

A large man backed his way into the front of the store, holding a tray full of more macaron boxes. Alya recognized him from his interactions with the cashier as her husband and likely, the other owner of the store. Tom. Alya rolled her eyes at herself...how did she know _his_ name, but not _hers_? But anyway, the cashier called out to him while he started stacking boxes. “Tom, dear? Do you know how many times Ladybug has saved us? The number?”

“Oh là là. No, Sabine, I don’t.” _Sabine!! That must be it!_ “Are we counting the times she represented our business as ‘saving us’? Oh, look! It’s ice cream girl!” He turned and smiled wide at Alya, reaching over the counter to shake her hand.

Politely, Alya smiled back and shook his hand as well. “Nice to meet you, Monsieur Tom. You’re the ‘T’ in ‘T&S’, aren’t you?”

Tom grinned and pulled his hand back, setting it around his wife who was absolutely miniature in comparison. “Sure am. And Sabine’s the ‘S’.”

Sabine (wow, it was nice to know her name!) looked at the line behind Alya with a start. “Dear, did you want anything besides your regular order today? Maybe a box of those Ladybug macarons you were so upset about? They are 20% off!”

“I’ll take a box of regular macarons instead, Madame. Any flavors. I’m meeting a friend tonight.”

Tom and Sabine looked at each other with a funny expression. Tom stepped away to grab her a box and pick up Alya’s regular order of espresso and ice cream from the teenager working up front with Sabine while Sabine asked politely, “Oh? A friend? A romantic friend?”

Alya chuckled as she looked through her wallet for her credit card. “He used to be, actually. Back during collège in Marseille. But we’ve just been friends since then...He’s actually married now! It’s nice to have an old friend in a new city, you know?”

For whatever reason, Sabine looked relieved by that news. “Of course, dear.” She told Alya her total and swiped the credit card. “Stay dry out in the rain!”

“Thank you, Madame Sabine! Nice to meet you, Monsieur Tom!” Alya said, waving goodbye and carrying her espresso to the bench by the window to drink it. Several more people rushed by in the rain, including yet another Ladybug umbrella. She pulled out her receipt and glanced, having been surprised by the price. She knew the macarons were 20% off, but it still should have cost her over 10 euros for the whole order and definitely hadn’t. And sure enough, as she read it over, the cashier had added a 50% off discount to that box of cookies. Next to it was the discount code, ‘AMI DE LA FAMILLE’.[1]

Alya felt warmth in her chest. She was pretty damn sure it wasn’t just from the coffee. She looked over her shoulder and pushed some of her (yep, already frizzing) wet hair away to see better as Sabine helped the next customer and Tom disappeared to work in the kitchen. She chanced the smallest of smiles. Not all Ladybug fans were bad. Obviously. And if Ladybug had helped these wonderful people stay safe, that was something worth thanking her for.

\--ii--

“Hey, Alya,” Michelle said, standing behind her desk as she finished taking notes on her last few paragraphs of research for the day.

Alya looked up, then leaned back in her chair, smiling upside down at her coworker. “Hey, Omnes. What’s up?”

“Just wanted to check on my favorite Societé page writer,” she said with a shrug. _Lie_.

“You liar. What’s _really_ up, girl?”

“What? I can’t just stop by to say hello on our way out of work?”

Alya laughed. She spun in her chair to better face her. “You _can_ , but you can’t lie about it.” Alya tapped her own nose. “I have journalistic intuition, Omnes.”

“What, and I don’t?”

“I didn’t say that,” Alya smirked, “But you’ve yet to prove it.”

Michelle laughed at her. “You’re awful, Césaire. But you were right, I did have ulterior motives. You, uh...planning on sharing those macarons?”

Alya nearly pounced on her box, then lifted it high out of reach. She’d managed to only eat two (she was _going_ to eat just one...but then it was too damn good) and still had eight to give when she got to the bar that night. “Not with you, mademoiselle! These are for a very good friend.”

“Oh, a _very good friend_ , I see? Is it Paul?” She made a swipe towards the box, which Alya swung the other direction.

“It is _not_ Paul. That date was a disaster; he spent the entire time texting his _mom_.”

Michelle made a pitying grimace. “Was it really his mom though?”

“It really was.”

After taking another swipe, which Alya quickly avoided, Michelle asked, “Is it Claire?”

“It is _not_ Claire. She actually never texted me back, so I wouldn’t _want_ to meet with her. And stop guessing people you’ve tried to set me up with! None of them have worked and it’s not a romantic friend.”

“Then why are you giving them macarons?” Michelle demanded, trying one last time to swipe the box.

Alya hissed at her, then opened her desk drawer and placed the cookies in, slamming it shut. “Because I’m a fucking nice person and I like my friends.”

“I’m your friend, right?”

“You ain’t my macaron friend, girl!” She spun back around and shut down all her programs. “How’s your piece on that sick boy going?”

“Slow. The mom is an absolute nightmare to talk to and the step-dad won’t stop crying. The boy at least has a great sense of humor...but I need more than just his quotes to make it something Henri’s going to like,” she complained. “Yours?”

Alya rolled her eyes and stood up, grabbing her raincoat. The rain had stopped hours ago, but Alya would regret leaving it at the office. “Honestly, it’s been one of my more interesting ones. Recycling...I got some really nice interviews from the workers who handle glass.” She smiled, sincerely, and adjusted her light, summer work outfit. “I _love_ interviews. Maybe if I really do great on this one, Henri will believe me that I’m good at them and let me do something other than the biodiversité [2] section. I don’t even know why I’m in this section! I had _nothing_ about ecology or bio in my portfolio! I write about crime, and exposés, and syndicates, and superheroes, and heroic citizens. I write damn action novels. Not this ecomania stuff!”

Michelle started towards the elevator, Alya close behind. “It’s because César quit. That was basically all he ever wrote. It’s gotta be that,” Michelle said with a shrug.

“I don’t think Henri likes me,” Alya grumbled.

“Oh, I’m sure that’s not true…” They were nearly at the elevator and she turned around, looking at Alya’s desk, then at her. A slight smile tugged at her lips, like he was thinking about something funny.

“What?”

“Nothing.” _Lie_.

“It’s about Henri, right?”

“No, not that.”

“Then what is it?”

She laughed lightly. “I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

Alya rolled her eyes and got in the elevator with her, making the descent out of the bullpen and eventually onto the street. She waved goodbye to her coworker and checked her phone for quick directions to the bar, but found it easily.

Luckily, her friend was already there, leaning against the bar with a closed-mouth smile on his face, eyes shut as he bobbed his head to the music. His dreadlocks were pulled into a ponytail, not flowing free under a baseball cap like Alya normally saw them. His tattooed arms were behind his head, relaxed and comfortable. Alya’s face split in a wide grin. Not caring one bit for social norms, she yelled, “NINO!”

Nino lurched forward and looked at the door, his smile matching hers. “ALYA!” He nearly fell off the chair and ran to her, wrapping his arms as much around her as they could go and grunting in an effort to pick her up.

Since Nino was failing terribly, Alya instead picked _him_ up and spun him around. Then set him on the floor. “Damn, boy, look at you! All dressed up in a fucking button-up!” She slapped his exposed forearms; he had still rolled up the sleeves.

“Yeah, I had my desk job today. But I’m at the radio station tomorrow night and have a DJ gig in the afternoon, so don’t judge me on my appearance.” He winked, then waved her over to the bar.

“You keep busy, my man! How many jobs you got?” Alya asked. She chose the least sticky chair and pulled herself up, ordering a rum and coke as Nino got situated.

“There’s this one, with Orange[3]. Part-time, but between Kiki’s paychecks and that, we’re covered with what we need. I make a couple thousand a year on my tracks and mixes, but that doesn’t pay the bills. I DJ for parties when I have free time, I’m the night radio DJ for Radio Neo...I’m trying to get more hours there. The goal is to quit Orange and DJ full time, right? Maybe make a bigger name with my own tracks.”

The bartender handed Alya her rum drink and Nino his wine. “Well, hey. Good for you, dude.” Alya raised her glass and clinked against Nino’s, smiling ruefully. “And how _is_ Kiki? I don’t think I’ve really seen her since the wedding. Man, I’ve been in Paris for what, two months? I’ve seen you twice, three times now,” she gestured with her glass, “and I ain’t seen Kiki for two years, bro.”

Nino tutted with a wave of his hand. “Girl, lies. You saw her when we came to visit Marseille last summer on vacation. You know that!”

“I meant in Paris.”

“Uh huh. Sure!” Nino laughed. “She’s doing great. You’ll see her soon, but you know how it is, her working in a hospital. She couldn’t come to the bar with us tonight.” He began to fidget with his wedding ring, Alya’s eyes snapping there immediately and jumping to the worst conclusion.

“She’s leaving you?”

“What?! Dude, no! What the fuck, Alya?!”

“Well, I don’t know! You’re playing with your ring!”

“It’s habit, bro. I don’t wear other jewelry, it’s just become a...thing I do when I think of her! No, we’re _happy_. She’s just at work.”

Alya narrowed her eyes, inhaling deeply. She sat up and smiled, then beamed. He was absolutely telling the truth. “Aw, Nino, I am so _glad_. Alya threw her arms around her friend, squeezing his neck. “You really are happy. Dude, you deserve that so much.”

“Well, geez. Thanks, Alya.” He squeezed her back and Alya nuzzled right in. She inhaled again, not smelling for lies, but just the sandalwood smell of her good friend. Thank god he’d changed his signature scent since collège.

Eventually, Alya pulled away. She nudged her glasses down a little on her nose, tilting her head and offering Nino a sly look. “So…? Tell me about it. How has being married for _two years_ been? Is the sex getting old?”

“The sex is _not_ getting old,” Nino laughed. “I mean...Alya, you’re not really the person I want to discuss my sex life with.”

“Aw, come on, man! Why not?! I’m your friend!”

“Well, when was the last time you got any?”

“Not fair; I just moved here two months ago. I’ve gone on dates, but they’ve all been bust and I ain’t putting out for someone who I’m not sticking around for. That’s not my style.”

“And that wasn’t my question. When was the last time?”

Alya blew upwards, her curl flipping around in front of her. Frankly, she didn’t get to date often. Even back in Marseille. When she wasn’t working, she was Rena. When she wasn’t Rena, she was researching. Her last relationship had been...well… “It’s been about a year and half. And...oh, wait, no. There was that one boy, the British one...I got really drunk on New Year’s last year.” She grimaced. “I really don’t think that should count, though. I still think he fell asleep inside me.”

Nino laughed. Then very seriously, he put his hands on her shoulders and looked deep in her eyes. “Alya, it’s your body and your sex life. You get to decide what counts to you.”

Keeping in his serious tone, Alya took a deep breath. She put her hands on his arms and said seriously, “Thank you, Doctor Lahiffe. I think...I think I can finally move on.” She wiped away a fake tear and the two friends broke out into laughter. They paused to drink more, grinning quietly. “So, it’s all going good? You like being married?”

“Man, I _love_ being married. All that stability. Even when she’s off doing amazing doctor stuff, working those long, crazy hours, I don’t feel...alone, y’know?” He raised up his ring. “I feel a part of something. I feel important.”

Subconsciously, Alya touched her own important jewelry that made her feel a part of something, too.

Nino continued, “I know it's not for everyone. Marriage, love...it isn't everyone's path, but it is mine, and I'm really happy about it. And I know some people think I was pretty young...but 23 isn’t _that_ young! I mean, my lycée friends, Rose and Juleka? They got married the _day_ gay marriage was legalized in France. They were 19 and 20. Babies! But they still goin’ strong. Anyway. It’s just like…” he settled himself down into his chair a little more. “Sometimes, you think about how fun the dating scene can be. First dates, crushes, meeting new people, trying new things...and I loved that. I tore Paris apart in university!”

Alya didn’t need to have a lie-detecting nose to know that was a bit of a bluff. “I’m sure you did, Big Man,” she laughed sarcastically.

“But marriage means that I get to go home every night and know there’s someone there who loves me. Who wants a family with me. I don’t have to work and try and impress her because she’s already impressed. I mean...I _want_ to impress her. We work hard at everything we do to make our family and relationship work, and that includes keeping up the romance and the friendship and talking about our feelings. That means I feel confident that I can change, I can try new things in my music, I can be brave, I can do what I like and she’ll keep supporting me no matter what.”

After monologuing about his wife, Nino had that soft look in his eye that had drawn Alya to him back in collège. That was what Alya wanted, she knew. A real love, a real partner. Someone who made her better and encouraged her, supported her, challenged her. But someone who was comfortable...yeah, _comfortable_. That’s what Alya needed. She put a hand over her heart and another on his arm. She sighed, paused, and said, “Damn, bro.”

Nino sputtered a laugh. “Ah yes, I can see why you’re an award winning writer, Alya.”

“Excuse you!” Alya laughed, the hand that had rested so gently instead smacking his arm. “I’m fucking poetic when I’m getting paid to be.” She swished her glass around and took another gulp of rum and coke. “And when I’m not getting drunk.”

“So are you ‘fucking poetic’ at work?”

“You bet your black ass I am. And in fact I-” Alya froze. Her eyes bugged and memory snapped back to work. “Oh, shit. Nino, dude, I’m so sorry. I was going to bring you cookies! I got you macarons from my favorite patisserie! They’re in my desk at work!”

“Aw, Alya, really? What?? You’re killing me, man! Why am I even here?”

“Don’t be like that; you didn’t even know they existed five seconds ago.”

“But now I _do_ , Alya,” Nino whined, leaning in to her. “You’ve awoken the Dessert Beast. I didn’t know I wanted it until I knew I couldn’t have it!”

“Oh, calm down. I’ll bring them by your house tomorrow instead.”

“But that’s _tomorrow_. We need to live for tonight!” Nino looked around the bar and reached over another patron to grab a menu. He skimmed it, muttering a few of their pairings and small plate options under his breath. “Good. They have desserts.”

“Sorry about the cookies, Nino.”

He waved a hand, smiling earnestly. “Honestly, girl? No big deal. Besides, _my_ favorite patisserie probably has better macarons anyway. And it’s run by one of my friend’s parents, so even if it was _objectively_ better, it’s never gonna be emotionally better.”

Alya nodded. “Honestly, I think I might be getting that way. This is only the fourth place I’ve tried, but the couple who runs the place are just _so damn nice_ . You know I got a family and friends discount this morning? My own mother lectured me for a week the first time I tried to _not_ pay full price at her restaurant! And they serve ice cream at 7 am, so fuck yeah I’ll go there.”

“Does your mom still charge you full price?”

“No, but that isn’t the point. The point is I’ve sold my soul to this boulangerie and will probably go there every day for my breakfast until I retire.”

Nino finished his glass of wine, gesturing for a second one. “How’s work going anyway?” Alya responded by pulling on her hair and groaning- a low groan that turned into nearly a scream. “Oh, that well?”

“Here, let me just…” Alya pulled out her phone, skimming around until she found the Le Parisien app. She opened to the Societé section and found her most recent article. “Read this. This is what I’m writing at work.” She handed the phone to Nino and drained her glass of rum and started on her second. She would need it, if they were discussing her job.

Nino finally finished. “Wow,” he said, setting the phone back down. “I mean, it’s not _bad_ , Alya. It was pretty engaging, as far as, uh, an article on garbage mandates go. But it’s not...very _you_.”

“That’s the problem,” she agreed, raising her glass. “I’m getting published steadily, finally. I wasn’t at first. But I don’t want to be in this bio niche. I want to do what I’m good at! Write about heroes! Write about adventure! I got in this one…” she skimmed through the app again, plopping her article about the Italie Deux Bomber in front of Nino. “And it got good reception. But my boss kept whining that there wasn’t enough reference to _Ladybug_ ,” she said, nearly spitting the name.

“And you don’t want to write about Ladybug, I’m guessing?”

“No! She’s so overwritten! I mean...god, Nino. Do you know how many articles about Ladybug there are? Literally, _tens of thousands_. In all the Paris papers. France papers. International papers! When we were in collège, that one Korean paper had an entire weekly column dedicated to her.”

Nino smirked. “Didn’t you try to learn Korean so you could read that column, Alya?”

“That is absolutely not the point. I’m _obviously_ over her. It’s been a decade. And more importantly than that, I’m from Marseille. I know what a real superhero is like.”

Nino nodded and swallowed, then raised his glass. In a loud voice, he called out, “Vive La Rena Rouge!”[4] It was the call you could hear scattered throughout bars all around Marseille. Especially with such a controversy bubbling around her violent, targeted acts (despised by the underworld, frightening to the unaffected innocents), not everyone in Marseille celebrated Rena Rouge. Very few even saw her...some claimed she wasn’t real. So of course, her supporters and believers were even more vocal and proud of their support.

Alya felt a bubble of pride- both in herself and in her city. She raised her glass and shouted back, “Vive La Rena Rouge!” And although she was the only other voice in the bar to reply in kind, it still felt nice.

It felt like home.

Nino giggled. “You know, I’ve _always_ wanted to do that in a bar. It was totally my plan for my eighteenth birthday, but then we had to move to Paris when I was sixteen.”

“Oh, you poor baby. Didn’t get your birthday party.”

Nino rolled his eyes. “It doesn’t get the same reaction here. But hey! Maybe it will! You know, she’s here now!”

“Rena Rouge?” Alya paused, mentally fighting over how to play this. Dumb? Like she already knew? Curious?

“Yeah! I think she might have even moved here. Look...I bookmarked the stuff I’ve seen.” He pulled out his phone and opened to a folder. There were about twenty instagram posts and six newspaper articles. Two articles from different papers covered the same instance (when Rena was seen on the roof of Sacre-Cœur), only one was from Le Parisien, the others didn’t seem to even know who she was. Alya was a little proud of her ability to stay in the shadows, but...also...a little put off that this was _all_ anyone had recognized of her. “But for some reason, nobody knows who she is. In half of these articles, they just call her ‘mystery fox woman’ or ‘fox miraculous fighter’. Which is stupid! I mean, Marseille is obsessed with Rena! Not the way Paris is obsessed with Ladybug and Chat Noir, but...everybody knows who she is! Like her or hate her, if you live in Marseille, you have an opinion about The Bloody Vixen. The one year she was a hero and I lived in Marseille was the coolest damn year of my life. Every time I come back to visit, people are arguing about her. And these papers are too lazy to figure that out. Just use google, idiots!

“But I really think she moved to Paris. There’s these posts and articles I just showed you...amateur stuff...but it’s still obviously her. The one from your paper uses her name. It says ‘allegedly’, but it’s her name. And she _hasn’t_ been sighted anywhere else recently. Including in Marseille.”

“You’re observant, Lahiffe.”

“So you noticed, too?”

Alright, then that’s how she’d play it. “Well, yeah, I _am_ her best journalist,” Alya grinned.

“Then do that, Alya. Write about her! Write about Rena Rouge, here in Paris!”

Alya frowned. “I’ve tried, Nino. They’re not interested unless it’s about Ladybug. And I don’t want to write about the goddamned Ladybug. They don’t even want me to write Chat Noir. Not unless I can write Ladybug, too.”

“Would you really rather write about recycling initiatives than Ladybug?”

Alya didn’t answer. But her pride ran _deep_.

“But Rena’s here. People are going to notice her. And they’re going to start comparing her to Ladybug.” Nino laughed. “They’re total opposites, those two. Rena is brash, violent, and stays hidden. Ladybug is public, adored, and-”

“A real cowardly bitch,” Alya finished.

“Well, damn. I was gonna say ‘careful’. But sure, go with that.” Nino paused. He looked at Alya and leaned in. “Yes, Alya. Go with that!”

As Nino leaned in, Alya leaned back, a little scared of Nino’s excitement. His wine seemed to be kicking in, finally. “Go with what, dude?”

“Your boss wants you to write about Ladybug? Write about Ladybug. And use _her_ to introduce Paris to _Rena Rouge_.” He started to get really excited now, jumping out of his seat. “Alya, it’s genius! Nobody knows Rena Rouge like you. Especially not in this jank-ass town.”

“Paris is a jank-ass town now?”

“Girl, listen. Nobody knows her! She’s yours! Yours to write! And they like Ladybug, and you know Ladybug...you’ve researched the hell out of her. Even after I left, don’t deny it, I know you did. So you can write a good, unbiased comparison.”

“It wouldn’t really be unbiased.”

“Well, it’s not like much written about Ladybug is unbiased. And all the people who normally say a single negative thing about her don’t have a leg to stand on...but you do! You have _four_!”

Alya blinked. She pulled her rum away from Nino, protectively. “Why...four…?”

“Because foxes have four legs!” he screamed.

Laughing, Alya pushed Nino to sit down. “Nino, you’re drunk.”

“I ain’t drunk yet,” he argued, swishing his glass. “M’just tipsy. And I’m definitely not too drunk to know that it’s a bomb-ass idea, dude.”

“You know, it actually is pretty clever,” Alya agreed, pulling out her phone to make some notes. And maybe if she could tie it in with a recent joint effort...she could prepare the outline of the article, write up their comparison, and then fill in the holes where battle details needed to be. Have it in by that night and maybe in the next morning’s edition. Henri would have to take it.

Nino was clearly very pleased to be called clever by Alya. He grinned, wiggling his shoulders. “I’m telling Kiki that I’m a genius,” he announced, pulling out his phone. While Alya and Nino tapped away, Nino spoke again. “It’s really funny, you know. My two best friends of all time are in Paris. My main girl...uh, non-wife main girl, I mean...hates Ladybug. And my main man is practically obsessed.” He laughed and set his phone down. “Always has been. He’s got the merch, he knows the lore, he has costume opinions...it drives his roommate absolutely insane.”

“What, does his roommate side with me?” Alya grinned, leaning on her elbow. “Team Rena Over Ladybug?”

“Naw, she’s a fan of Ladybug, too. But she’s way more chill about it. Supports her, defends her, knows a lot about her, but not like Adrien. She’s always just kind of been ‘whatever’ about superheroes. I think some of her issue with that has more to do with their history, though. Adrien and Marinette have…” Nino squinted, trying to find a word. Eventually, he settled on, “history” again. “But still. To think I befriended the biggest fan of Ladybug in Paris _and_ the one person who wouldn’t mind seeing her squished.”

“I don’t hate her _that_ much,” Alya denied. “I don’t want her squished. I just think she gets more credit than she deserves.”

“And Adrien thinks she doesn’t get enough.”

Alya rolled her eyes. “How the hell is that even _possible_ ? She has a goddamned statue. I bet one of these churches is going to get renamed Notre Dame de Bonheur [5] in her honor or something.”

Nino laughed and nodded. “And Adrien would finance for the whole thing.” He laughed again, quieter this time, and took another drink of his wine. Alya drank her rum quietly, thinking over potential articles. Oh, there were so many ways she could compare Rena to Ladybug. Should she go with more underhanded compliments, to ease Paris into it? Scatter a few pleasantries before acknowledging Ladybug’s major faults and flaws? Maybe relate it more to whatever event she writes about...she could count on Ladybug to screw it up. Nino spoke up, breaking into her thoughts and said, “We should all hang out, actually.”

Alya looked back up at him and blinked. “Who?”

“Us two and Adrien and Marinette. His roommate? They have an awesome place. I used to live there...tried to get you to visit and you wouldn’t leave Marseille? Anyway, they could throw a dinner party. One night when Kiki’s at the hospital and I would be stuck eating frozen dinner, we have a party instead!”

“Aw, man, you just want me to cook!”

Nino grinned. “What better way to give a good first impression?”

Alya crossed her arms over her chest. “So, you want me to cook dinner for your Ladybug-loving friend? Why is this?”

“I think you guys would get along. You got along with him at my bachelor’s party!”

“Nino, I do _not_ remember that party.”

“So, you’ll meet him again. I think all four of us would get along! Oh, _besides_ the Ladybug thing. Adrien has way more interests than that...I just thought it was funny. He’s a really cool guy. They both are! You’ll fit right in.” Alya narrowed her eyes, but Nino kept trying. “Weren’t you looking for more friends in Paris? And maybe...more dates?”

“Friends and dates are not the same thing.”

Nino lifted his hands in the air. “Good thing there’s two of them, then! You can pick! One for friends and one for dates!”

Alya laughed. “What the hell does that mean?”

He grinned and shrugged. “They’re both cool, they’re both great friends, they’re both real hot, they’re both _single_...and they’re both into girls. And boys. Marinette likes both, and I thinkAdrien does, too...? I kind of got some mixed signals from him in lycée, and then there was the bachelor party, but…anyway! We go, you become awesome friends with both of them, start dating one of them, then you leave with a friend, a relationship, and we can all hang out the four of us together. The five of us, when Kiki’s available. It’ll be awesome!”

Alya laughed again, shaking her head. God, it really had been awhile since Nino had dated if he thought it was that simple. But real friends...she could use more friends. In all of Paris, she could count her friends on one hand, _including_ Sabine at the boulangerie. And there was absolutely nothing wrong in her book with meeting hot people and being open to dating them.

Just because it hadn’t happened yet didn’t mean she didn’t want it to. It really had been...awhile.

“Alright, I’m in. Just give me actual notice so I don’t plan on staying at work writing that night. I’ll bring dinner, so get me their dietary restrictions. What are you bringing?”

“A new friend?”

“I do not count as your offering, Lahiffe! Especially if I’m paying to cook the main course.”

Nino laughed. “Fine. I’ll ask Adrien what I should bring when we set it all up.” He smiled, looking softly at Alya again. “I missed you, dude.”

“You saw me three weeks ago, dork.”

He grabbed Alya tightly, forcing her head against his chest and giving her a rough noogie in her still frizzy hair, much to her complaints and flailing arms. “I’m still allowed to miss you!” he released Alya, ignoring her string of curses as she readjusted her glasses and tried to ease her hair. Damn, Nino was lucky Rena Rouge didn’t take petty revenge. He sighed dramatically, happily, as if Alya wasn’t glaring at him with fire in her eyes. “It’s going to be _so great_ when you marry Adrien and/or Marinette. We’ll be _married couple friends_ , then.”

“Oh, we got an and/or thing going on now? How very modern. I can dig it.”

Nino put his cheek in his palm, looking away dreamily. “It’s going to be so great.”

Alya chuckled. Affectionately, she tapped his arm again, noticing one of his tattoos seemed to feature a tiny fox mask. God, she loved her best friend. More than he understood. “Alright, Lahiffe. I think that’s enough wine for you. Let’s get you that dessert you wanted.”

His eyes snapped back to attention and with a wild grin, he nodded.

\--iii--

The morning after her get together with Nino, Alya headed into work promptly at 4:30 to begin working on her comparison piece. She was grateful she’d only had two drinks so that she wasn’t working through a hangover. Nino was a much more sane drinking partner than Chat Noir turned out to be...frankly, for the safety of the city, it was a good thing Ladybug didn’t drink with them, too. It left at least one marginally useful superhero still sober, wherever she sat in Paris being boring. But more than that, Alya was fired up. Impassioned. Excited.

She tapped out an outline and a variety of ideas first, working until the light streaming through the window gave her an inkling of the time. Her trip to T&S Boulangerie was efficient, as she was too excited to get back to work to even stay there long.

Alya spent the rest of the hour and a half before work officially began cross-checking her facts. She in no way was going to share information about Rena Rouge or Ladybug that weren’t already public knowledge, with the exception of a few harmless facts. No one in Marseille had ever reported on her super-speed, for example. No one had noticed; she was too good at hiding. It wasn’t like she could run at the speed of light, but double the average human speed was nothing to ignore. And no one in Paris had noticed, or at least admitted to noticing, Ladybug’s angry outbursts. Or her bull-headedness. Or her conceit. Or her stupid face. Or a _lot_ of her negative traits...she really had to reign herself in, there.

But by the time Michelle wandered into the room smelling like meat and American breakfast, Alya felt she had a really solid article proposal. Alya clicked away a few of her research tabs and waved her friend over. “Omnes! Good morning!”

“Hey, Césaire.”

“Woah, nice hair! It looks even gayer than normal!” Alya complimented, standing up to touch the product that made Michelle’s short hair stand up.

Michelle pouted. “It’s not _gay_ , it’s _modern_.”

“Gay is a compliment, coming from me,” Alya promised. “Girl, I am so excited for our pitch meeting today.”

“You think you actually have something Henri is going to like?”

“Damn, if he doesn’t like it, I need to move papers. Go to a center-left weekly or something.”

Michelle gripped Alya’s arms, eyes wide. “No! Don’t leave me! You’re the only Societé writer my age!”

“Then back me up on my new idea,” Alya suggested, winking. “And you knew I left the macarons here last night, didn’t you?”

Michelle grinned. “You don’t have an excuse not to share now, do ya?”

“Oh, I think I’ve got two,” Alya disagreed, flipping her two middle fingers, then opening the drawer, cradling her box, and stuffing an entire macaron into her mouth just for Michelle to watch.

“Maybe you _should_ go Le Journal du Dimanche or something,” Michelle said. She laughed, then waved goodbye. “See you in the blue room, Césaire.”Alya shared her wave goodbye and put the rest of her macarons away for a later craving. She could buy a new box for Nino.

With all her excitement for her new idea, it felt like only minutes had gone by before all toe Societé writers were up, on their feet, and corralled into the blue room for their daily pitch meeting. In front of the room was a large calendar, colored writing all over it and ‘Societé’ written on top. Each color coordinated to a writer with their assignments scrawled on the applicable due-date. Some people, like Michelle who worked a steady column, had their plan filled out through the rest of July and all of August. Others, like Alya, had just a week or two...and not even an article every day.

The meeting started slow, as always. Henri gave numbers report for how many online readers read each article, applauding the writers of the highest numbers. Alya had gotten that applause just three times in her time on the Societé pages- twice for these ridiculous biodiversité articles and then once for her bomber article. That one, actually, Henri had begrudgingly admitted was viral for three days.

He went around the room collecting status updates, first from writers who had pieces due that day. Alya was pleased to inform him that she’d already made most of his edits and would be submitting before noon, but Henri hardly smiled. Just nodded and moved on. Alya glared at his head as he turned to talk to the next writer. Why wouldn’t he just admit she was good? For once?

Right before Henri finished checking in with writers who had anything due that week, the blue room’s door opened. Karen Nguyen stepped into the room, her heels clacking imposingly and her silent, red-headed assistant following along in her shadow. The room got a lot quieter immediately, everyone acknowledging her presence well before she officially greeted Henri. “Have you discussed the pitches yet, Henri?” Madame Nguyen asked, one hand on her tablet, the other laying at her side against her skirt.

“Not yet, Madame Nguyen. Would you like us to start that discussion now, or…”

“If you would, Henri. I’m not here to waste time listening to you finish up your staff matters. I want to know what my writers are thinking about.”

Quickly, nervously, Henri nodded. He rushed to the front of the room and cleared a spot on the whiteboard next to the calendar. Alya looked over at Madame Nguyen and her imposing presence with awe and a bit of a grin. Henri was stuck in his ways and wouldn’t listen to any of his writers or peers...but _everyone_ listened to Madame Nguyen. Frankly, even if her incredible portfolio and business management skills weren’t enough to put her at the top of one of Paris’s most respected daily papers, that body language probably would.

“So, uh, who has a new pitch for us?” A few hands went up, including Alya’s, but of course, Henri didn’t call on her first. He kept glancing back at Madame Nguyen as his writer gushed about her idea for a paper on dried flowers. This writer, Annette, almost always ended up in the ‘La Parisienne’ subsection[6]  of the Societé pages, and she seemed perfectly happy to stay there.

The room discussed the idea a bit, then moved on to the next writer’s idea; a native from Brittany, he’d recently heard about a bunch of students taking up an initiative to reignite passion in the Breton language. Henri looked interested in that idea and glanced up at Madame Nguyen. He stammered before greenlighting the idea. The next writer’s idea was shot down, the next was reassigned to someone else, and _finally_ he called on Alya.

“I’d like to write a piece that really introduces Paris to Rena Rouge, the new fox miraculous hero. She’s stayed in the shadows and no one’s really noticed her, especially since Ladybug and Chat Noir are such attention hogs. And it is her, monsieur! I know her well enough to confirm it’s the real Rena Rouge, not just an imposter. But Rena Rouge has a lot of interest and history from her home town, and-”

“I’m going to cut you off right there, Alya,” Henri said. “You’ve been pitching a Rena Rouge article for the past month and I tell you the same thing. You won’t get the content you want. I’ve read those articles from Marseille- she stays in the shadows. Our readers want to know about someone they can see for themselves! They don’t want to hear that there _might_ be another hero. They don’t want blurry photos and scary vigilantes that we can’t confirm or deny are really on their side. They’d rather read an interview with Ladybug. Get me one of those.”

“Monsieur, this is a new idea. It actually applies to Ladybug as well.” Henri paused, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. But he didn’t stop her, so Alya went on. “Paris is very familiar with Ladybug. They know her, they love her, but...she’s a little stale. Monsieur, keep listening, please. Rena isn’t just new and fresh- she’s different. Very, very different. Yes, including that she’s mysterious and violent...And that’s a good thing for public intrigue. So, I want to write a piece that compares the two heroes head-to-head. I’ve got it outlined already and my plan is to fill in the gaps with anecdotes from their most recent time working together.”

“The bank robbery on the 17th? Someone in the _Paris_ section has already covered that. We don’t need to rehash it…”

“No, not that one. The next one. The one that hasn’t happened yet. I’ve already got my assignments for this week, but I can track down Ladybug and Rena Rouge when they work together before this time next week and have a finished draft on your desk by…” she glanced at the calendar. Obviously, Alya had no real idea when she’d run into Ladybug. Frankly, she usually tried to avoid it. But it shouldn’t be hard to orchestrate working together herself, especially with Chat Noir on board. They’d find _something_ to do. Some disaster or some criminal to stop. All she needed was one interaction. “By August 3rd or earlier.”

Henri paused. He looked over at Madame Nguyen, but Alya didn’t dare break her eye-contact with her immediate boss. She was determined to get her way this time.

“Alright, it sounds interesting.” Alya broke into a smile. She caught Michelle’s eye, who sent her two thumbs up and a matching smile. At least, until Henri continued, “Who can pick up Alya’s idea?”

Writers began to clamour, Alya nearly standing up to defend herself, when the stern voice of Madame Nguyen broke through. “Henri, excuse my interruption. It’s Mademoiselle Césaire, correct? You’re our new hire from Marseille, aren’t you?”

Alya didn’t reply immediately. She wasn’t sure this was happening in real life, but when the blood pounding in her ears got to be so loud it was painful, she remembered how to speak. “Yes, Madame,”

“Your portfolio has plenty of impressive Rena Rouge articles. Marseille- that’s her hometown, isn’t it? I don’t believe _anyone_ in this room knows Rena Rouge as well as you, would they?” Anticipating being interrupted, she continued, “ _And_ I’ve read enough of your work to be confident you have the chops to research what you need to know about Ladybug. God knows we have enough material in our paper, and others. But we haven’t covered Rena Rouge at length yet. And as far as I’m aware, _no one_ has confirmed it really is her. If she’s sticking around, I would like our paper to be the one to formally introduce her to Paris. Stake a claim, as it were.” Madame Nguyen stepped closer to Alya, inspecting her head to toe. “How far along is that outline, Mademoiselle Cesiare?”

Alya fumbled with her laptop and quickly pulled up the outline. Madame Nguyen leaned over to skim it as Alya narrated for the good of the blue room. “I just need to adjust a few things when I get information on their next cooperation together. I’ll be using Ladybug as the springboard to get the interest going on Rena Rouge, so some of the compare/contrast points will probably change based on who does what during their next cooperation.”

Madame Nguyen stood at her full height. “Get this to Henri by the 28th. I want it in next Monday’s paper. CC me in to your email, Mademoiselle Césaire. CC me in on all your drafts. I want this piece to sparkle and draw real attention to Le Parisien. I want it to be the first thing people of Paris go to when they try to figure out who Rena Rouge is. It’s smart. It’s new. And I want it as soon as possible.” She looked over at Henri and waved her hand. “Take her off of that composting piece you have as due the 26th. I want all of her attention here. Hulot is stronger at the bio pieces anyway. Hulot, you take the composting piece. Césaire, send him what drafts you have.”

Alya sat in her chair, stunned. The 28th? That was three days away...she would have to work all weekend and would have to ride Ladybug’s tails every free chance to even get something to write about. Wordlessly, she scrolled to the top of her outline and filled in all the detailed instructions.

Madame Nguyen was still staring at Henri and she said, “Henri, after all pitch meetings are through we need to have a discussion about your best use of assets. I believe we may be due to shuffle a few writers around and you and I need to better understand your biases. Sabrina, schedule me a discussion with Henri after we finish pitch meeting rounds. Now. Henri, please continue.”

Alya’s heart slowed down and she looked over her outline. This was real. This was happening! She glanced up at Michelle who was beaming ear to ear and felt the coworker to her right pat her approvingly on the back. She saw her laptop bag shuffle and looked down, catching Trixx grinning and bouncing around inside the bag in proud delight. This felt like more than just an article to Alya. This felt like a new start. And Henri could kiss her fat black ass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 AMI DE LA FAMILLE: Family friend  
> 2biodiversité: This word LITERALLY means "Biodiversity", but it's used in France, especially in the shortened form of 'bio', like we in America use 'Eco' or 'green'. An 'eco-friendly program', or 'green living'...things that help the earth and preserve nature. When Alya says 'bio', it's pronounced "Bee-oh", not "by-oh", by the way, and has nothing to do with biographies. It's. Confusing. But trying to translate it as 'green' doesn't work.  
> 3Orange: Yes, it's a color and a fruit, but it's also a very big phone company in France. Definitely not Nino's dream job.  
> 4"Vive La Rena Rouge!": "Long Live Rena Rouge!". 'Vive' literally means 'live', but this expression is used as we say 'long live'. Most typically heard as 'Vive la France', but used for whatever as well.  
> 5 Notre Dame de Bonheur: "Our Lady of Luck". 'Notre Dame' means 'Our Lady', which is why so many French Catholic Cathedrals are named 'Our Lady' [of whatever], and this is also a play on the 'Lady Luck' expression.  
> 6"La Parisienne": Literally, 'the [female] Parisian'. In French, the masculine version of a term is also the neutral or plural (when including more than the female gender) version of a term. So, in the newspaper 'Le Parisien', which is named for the masculine-neutral Parisian, the women's section is called 'La Parisienne'. It's clever, but annoyingly reminds everyone how gendered French is and makes this author a little frustrated but whATEVER, FRENCH.


	5. The Dinner Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO THIS IS MY FAVORITE CHAPTER so far AND INCLUDES MY FAVORITE DIALOGUE EXCHANGE EVER

\--i--

On the 30th of July, Alya nearly ran through the streets of Paris with her newspaper folded under her arm. She’d already called home and woke up her mom and dad, insisting that they go online and read the new article. She’d already texted Nino nine times to tell him that he and Kiki _had_ to buy Le Parisien that day. She’d already called Ella and Etta while they got ready for school and told them to show all their friends (especially Rena Rouge fans), and she’d even reached out and texted Nora.

Now, she busted through the doors of the T&S boulangerie, waving her newspaper around as if there were no other patrons there. “I did it!”

Sabine looked up from the register in confusion, then smiled in pride at Alya. “Get in line so you can show me, Mademoiselle!” she said.

Alya bounced to her place in line, then bounced up and down on the soles of her feet as she waited her turn. She got a few glares from the much more tired Monday morning crew. To the older man in front of her, Alya leaned in and said, “Buy Le Parisien today. Page S-1. Check it out,” and tapped him with her paper.

She finally made it to the front of the line and slammed the paper down next to the register. “Madame Sabine! I did it!”

“Your mystery article you’ve been so excited about is published?”

“Not just _published_ ,” Alya teased. She started to flip through pages. While Alya was busy buzzing with excitement, Sabine called over their teenage employee to work the register for her and moved to the side. Tom was already in the front, so he set down his boxes of macarons and filled in for Manon. Finally, Alya found the page. “S-1! First page of Societé! First page!

“Well, would you look at that!” Sabine said, excitement in her voice. She took the paper in her hands, her face hidden behind the pages as she read.

“That one is yours,” Alya told her.

Sabine lowered the paper and looked over it at Alya. “This newspaper?” She confirmed. Alya nodded, unable to hold down her smile. “Why, thank you, dear! It’s so nice that you’re finally so excited about something you’ve published. So, Rena Rouge...that’s this fox woman in the picture? Rena Rouge and Ladybug.”

“Rena Rouge is kind of like the Ladybug of Marseille. But she has more of that Marseille grit, that Marseille toughness,” Alya explained, hands perched on her hips.

“I see that! This sounds very interesting! So...it’s a comparison of the two?”

“Through the lens of their cooperative work during that subway closure, yeah.” Frankly, things like a stuck subway car was hardly anything Rena Rouge wanted to do. It was dull, it was public, it was entirely accidental, and it _could_ have been managed by the real authorities- maybe just a little slower than the heroes handled it. But she had begged Chat Noir to let her know when they did absolutely _anything_ that would take longer than five minutes during the three days she was supposed to write her article. And frankly, that was the only thing that happened. Well, that and a mugger that she beat up, but Rena did that alone.

The subway car had provided Rena a real opportunity to observe Ladybug like a reporter, and although observing her that closely earned her some annoyed remarks and another catfight with Ladybug on top of the train, it was worth it. She now had written eye-witness proof that Ladybug was annoying.

Sabine was quiet as she skimmed. “Interesting, I haven’t heard many people make claims like this about Ladybug. You’re kind of implying that she’s always looking for recognition, controlling...ah, here, you say, ‘resistant to new ideas’. I don’t normally see the media paint her like that.”

“Oh, that’s my _unbiased_ version of my opinion,” Alya admitted, laughing a little. “To get the comparison really across, you have to shed some positive and negative traits, but write them in a way that sounds neutral.”

“I wouldn’t call this entirely neutral, if I’m being fair,” Sabine said. She looked a little worried, but frankly, Alya much preferred not having to sniff out a lie.

“No, you’re right. It isn’t truly unbiased. It does have a slight lean...enough to make Paris wonder who Rena Rouge is without thinking automatically that she’s scum compared to Ladybug. Oh, geez, I should be letting you form your own opinion, Sabine.”

“Oh, it’s very good so far!” Sabine folded the paper to put her story on top, calling over to Tom as he helped get a customer’s croissant. “Tom, dear? Do we stock ‘Le Parisien’? I want to have today’s paper available for customers.”

“I can run and buy a few more copies. Keep ours safe. I want to read it, too!”

Sabine turned back to Alya, placing her paper photo-side up between them. “I’m sorry if you thought I was criticizing you. Your writing is excellent so far and I can really, really tell you care more about this topic than some of your other ones. Rena Rouge! She sounds so...mysterious!”

Alya laughed, pulling her purse a little tighter to her side. “That’s the popular way to describe her, I guess.”

“Do you think you’ll get to write more about her and the other heroes now?”

Grinning, Alya nodded. “Actually, that’s the best part. Karen Nguyen - she’s the Editor in Chief - told me that if this article gets good reception in the next few days, I’ll be _moved to the Paris section!_ ” Quickly, Alya picked up the paper and shuffled to the large section with stories for each local city, finding the thickest of them all, labelled ‘Paris’. “This is where all the stuff that happens _here_ goes. The Ladybug stories. The controversies. The election news. The events...the things I can actually go out and see, that affect our lives!” She jammed her finger repeatedly on that section of the paper. “This is where I want to be! And I think today’s article is going to get me there! Madame Nguyen really liked it. She even personally sent me notes before it went to publish. Her! Personally!”

Alya’s contagious excitement made Sabine laugh warmly. “That’s wonderful news, then. You must go celebrate!”

“Oh no, I never celebrate _before_ something happens. It’s bad luck, Madame. In fact, I don’t even plan on bringing it up at dinner tonight with my friends. Nobody gets to know it could impact my job.”

“Oh, well! Then we won’t celebrate for you just yet.”

“Perfect,” Alya said, smiling wide again. “Thank you so much, Madame Sabine. You are so wonderful.”

Sabine backed up, hand on her chest. “I am? Why, dear, what did I do?”

Alya grinned. “I could never have written it if it weren’t for all the coffee pumping through my blood!”

“Oh, of course. We need to get you your order and send you off to work for your victory lap! And whatever assignment you’re writing today!” Sabine turned to the current cashier and said softly, “Manon, do you want to keep running the desk for now? I can be your assistant today?”

Manon, the young teenager with her hair in pigtails, smiled and nodded. “Sounds great, Madame Cheng. I’m a whiz at this!”

Sabine poured Alya’s café serré into a tiny espresso cup and put two scoops of vanilla ice cream in a bowl. She put them in front of Alya and instructed Manon, “For this one, charge one café serré and a single scoop of ice cream. The second scoop is on the house.”

“Madame, you spoil me,” Alya laughed. Frankly, she almost never ate the ice cream. It was Trixx’s treat before they had to sit in the laptop bag and read silently all day. But she had better manners than to turn down a gift. And Trixx could share today. It was a special event!

“I just hope you don’t forget about us little people when you’re a famous journalist and have your coffee delivered!”

As Alya paid and took her breakfast, she gasped and shook her head. “I would _never_ stop picking up my own breakfast! It’s the only time I see the sunlight some days!” Politely, she thanked Manon and waved goodbye to Sabine and Tom. She couldn’t help but mutter, “Check out page S-1” one more time to another stranger on her way back to Le Parisien. Sure, she didn’t have superpowered intuition, but Alya had a really, really good feeling about today.

 **\--** ii **\--**

Alya glanced at her phone, then glanced back at her bubbling sauce. She stirred it and admired the back of her wooden spoon, nodding in satisfaction at its consistency. Thick as cream and smelling like heaven. Alya turned off the heat from the burner she was using, moved the pot over to the kitchen table where a pot holder sat waiting, and returned to the kitchen to grab the plate of cooked chicken and carry it to the sauce. “Trixx, how is that rice coming along?”

“It’s done, Alya! Just needs to be put in the bowl and we can go!”

“We actually can’t go until Nino texts back,” Alya corrected, popping a few pieces of chicken into her mouth as she stirred the rest, coating the chicken generously with her sauce and the vegetables that swam in it. She pulled the wooden spoon out of the sauce, tapped as much off as she could, and popped it right into her mouth like a very, _very_ hot lollipop. Alya walked over to the rice cooker where Trixx was currently dancing in the steam, and she shooed them away. Around her spoon, she asked “Ca’ you ge’ a nice bowl for the Chicke’ Colombo? Wom wif a lid if we ha’e it.”

While Trixx flew off behind her, Alya tossed the wooden spoon into the sink and started ladelling the fluffy white rice into a glass bowl. “Got one!” Trixx cheered. Alya smiled and turned...and saw them holding an old, melty tupperware bowl over their head.

“Trixx, no! A _nice_ bowl. For the serving at the table.”

Pouting, Trixx put the bowl back and fluttered around. Their back to Alya, they complained, “It’s just Nino and his friends. You hang out with him in pajamas and eat chips from the bag. Since when do we need a nice bowl?”

“Since we’re going to a grown-up dinner party and meeting his cute, single friends,” Alya explained, walking over and looking where Trixx looked. “There. The colorful one,” she asked. “We can make a lid out of foil.”

“Ooh, so we’re on the hunt tonight then?” Trixx asked, diving into the back of the cupboard for Alya’s fancy bowl. One of many kitchen-related gifts from her mother’s side of the family. They carefully hovered with the bowl, balanced along their head, body, and tail, all the way to the kitchen table, and set it down. Working as a pair, Trixx flew to get the foil while Alya went to dish the chicken into its presentation bowl.

“We sure are. Nino says they’re cute and he has good taste.” She turned to Trixx, fluffing her hair and flaunting her body at an angle. “I mean, he had a good start with his first girlfriend, don’t you think?” Trixx giggled like a bell and nodded. Satisfied, Alya turned back to the main dish and finished pouring it in. “Besides, with the way the hits have been adding up on my Rena Rouge/Ladybug article, I’ll be moving to a place I actually want to be at work- thank you Trixx, just nice and tight around the edges- and it’s about time I tried my hand at dating again. Speaking of which...could you cover the rice and fill the dishes to soak? I’m going to touch up my makeup before Nino texts.”

Trixx started their next job as Alya disappeared into the bathroom, but in a matter of seconds promptly shouted out, “He texted!”

Alya popped her head out of the bathroom, only one eye properly winged. “What?! But it’s only 7:40!”

“Didn’t you tell him to pick you up at 7:40?”

“Yeah, but Nino’s never on time! What the fuck!” Alya turned back to her mirror, trying to calm her beating heart as she finished the other wing on her eye. She put her glasses back on, reapplied product to the front of her hair (her curls fell like a waterfall over her shoulders and looked absolutely gorgeous, she decided), touched up her red-violet lipstick, and adjusted the flattering royal blue shirt she wore. She tugged it down just a little bit more to make her cleavage pop, ruching the middle to hide any pot-belly she might have, and gave her curvy figure, hugged tight in khaki capris, one last glance-over in the mirror before rushing back into the kitchen. “Oh, putang, you can’t help me carry things! I totally forgot!”

“Are you sure? You could just tell Nino that you hired a tiny magic flying fox butler.”

“Smart-ass,” Alya grumbled as she messed with her strappy sandals. “Just tell him I’ll be right down. You ate already, right?”

“Yes, I ate. Okay, I’m telling Nino that you thought he would be late so you’re rushing now because you have no faith in the power of friendship.” They looked up from the phone with an impish smirk.

“Trixx! You did not!” Trixx just cackled in response, then carried the phone over to drop it in Alya’s purse which already hung over her shoulder. “You’re terrible, Trixx. Why do I keep you around?” Alya carefully placed the glass bowl of rice in one arm and the colorful bowl of chicken in the other, then worked her way out of the apartment, locked the door, and managed her way- with effort- down the stairs.

When she pushed her way out the apartment’s door, Nino was waiting in his little car. In his casual V-neck and cap, he looked much more like the Nino Alya excepted. He quickly got out of the car and rushed over to Alya, helping her with the bowl of rice and giving her a quick kiss to the forehead. They buckled the rice into a seat in the back (Alya didn’t trust the Chicken Colombo anywhere except her own lap) and buckled themselves in the front, then chugged off down the side-street and towards his friend’s apartment.

After a little bit of small-talk, the two began to leave the more residential areas of Paris and began to pass more tourists. “So, bit of a heads up,” Nino said, as they were now driving alongside the Seine, “Adrien and Marinette live in a really rich place. Adrien had a rich dad and so he’s sitting on a whole butt-load of interest and money in his bank account.”

“Had a rich dad? Is he dead?”

Nino shook his head. “Worse. But Adrien doesn’t like to talk about it, so don’t bring it up. I lived in that apartment with him until Kiki and I got engaged and got our own place...it’s super nice. Especially the location. Not as nice as where my man Adrien grew up, but no one would actually want to live in that masoleum, anyway.”

“Where did he grow up?”

“Huge mansion in the 6th. The Agreste Mansion...do you know that one?”

“No,” Alya admitted, taking the chance to look out the window at the part of Paris she rarely saw from ground-level. At least, not while in a car.

“Ah. Well, it’s been repurposed as a school now I think? Dunno. We can ask Adrien. Alright, here we are.”

Alya looked up as the car slowed to a stop. A beautiful, traditional Parisian building with white brick and rod-iron balconies looked back at her. Nino backed the car into an open parallel-parking street spot as Alya looked between the building and the Seine, just next to them. “Shit, he _is_ rich,” she muttered.

Nino and Alya got out of the car, Nino holding Alya’s rice and a bottle of red wine, Alya grabbing the second bottle and her main dish. “He owns the apartment. It’s not too far from Marinette’s parents’ place, so that’s cool. She lived at home until I moved out.” They continued their conversation as Nino was buzzed in. They past the commercial ground floor and headed up to the third. Nino shuffled his glass containers in his arm and rapped on the door, not having to wait long before it opened.

The man in the doorway made Alya blink and step back, just because he was so damn _hot_ . She definitely did not remember Nino’s best man being that hot. Adrien was a little tanned, nowhere near as dark as Alya and Nino of course, but certainly was good friends with the sun. And shit, the sun liked him _back_. He had short but messy blonde hair and obviously knew how to dress. Bright green eyes and an even brighter smile. “Nino! Bro! Come on in! And it’s Alya, right?” he asked, ushering them both in and suggesting the table for their heavy-laden arms.

Once their arms were free, Nino practically leapt into his best friend’s arms, hugging him tightly and slapping his back. Nino separated enough to pull Alya in and- oh, okay! Blonde hottie was hugging her, too! He pulled back and grinned at Alya. “Nice to meet you again sober, Alya. Nino has told me _so_ much about you. God, I feel like I already know you! He wouldn’t shut up about his _first girlfriend_ back in lycée. I’m glad you finally moved out to Paris!”

“It was nice to have his friendly face around when I got here, that’s for sure,” Alya agreed. “I don’t know if I should be worried about what he’s told you, though.”

“Aw, it was all good stuff. Hell, nothing could be worse than that wedding weekend. But really, Nino adores you. He still does!”

“Yeah, well he’s definitely told me about you too, Adrien. We stayed in touch over the phone through most of lycée and university. I was surprised you weren’t his _second_ girlfriend.” She winked at Adrien, earning a laugh. “I mean, god! How many times did he tell me how his new best friend was a hot model? He wasn’t wrong, look at you, but it was a little weird.”

Nino crossed his arms and pouted at Alya. “Damn, I knew it was a bad idea to introduce you two.” _Lie_.

Alya punched Nino soundly in the arm, smirking at him. She liked Adrien. She felt comfortable around him already. It probably had to do with his earnest smile...nothing like the fake model smile she’d always imagined. “Don’t lie, Nino. You’re probably creaming in your pants over us meeting right now.”

Nino rolled his eyes. He turned to Adrien after briefly looking around. “Where’s Marinette?”

“She’s on her way back from the boulangerie. She made the dessert there and had to help her parents get ready for tomorrow in exchange. Lost track of time-”

“-of course she did.”

“-But she was just crossing Île Saint-Louis when she texted last. Five minutes away. We can sit down and dish the salad while we wait. Oh, Nino, you brought a really fancy red! Dude, I’m impressed!”

“Alya told me what to buy.”

“Just because it pairs well with my Colombo. I normally trust your taste in wine, boy,” Alya defended. The three of them found seats at the table Adrien had already set, and he started to dish out salads on all four plates, one on each side of the table. Clearly, he really expected Marinette to arrive any moment. Nino sat between his two best friends, leaving the empty spot between Alya and Adrien.

Trixx poked their head out of the bag and hovered high enough to get a good look at Adrien, but low enough to stay out of sight. They whispered just loud enough for Alya to hear while Nino laughed at something Adrien said, “Wow, cute boy alert!”

“I know,” Alya replied in a hushed whisper, then with one finger slowly pressed Trixx back into the bag. That was a conversation she did _not_ want to have with her new friend. The conversation flowed easily and lightly. Discussion of work, friends from school, what Nino was like as a kid in Marseille. And soon, there was a rattling of keys on the other end.

The door slammed open and a stream of apologies followed it. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so late! There was a last minute catering order at the boulangerie and then Mme Chamack came in to pick up Manon from work so of course she wanted to talk to me and then Maman wasn’t happy with...oh _merde_ , I’m still wearing my apron!” The fourth person’s face was entirely hidden behind a beautiful, towering Charlotte au Chocolat. She set it down on a counter with her back turned to the table.

Like the rest of them, Alya was watching this new person. But unlike the boys, she could feel her heart thumping out of her chest as she watched. This person was tiny- short, with a small body, and beautiful blue-black hair swept into  a bun near the base of her head. She wore a pastel pink dress with green accents and it hugged her body at her waist. When the girl bent to set down the dessert in her fridge, Alya could tell she had muscular legs- she wasn’t just a dainty flower in a pretty pink dress. She continued blabbering apologies and pulled the apron off and over her head, then finally turned around. And that’s when Alya’s thumping heart stopped.

Never before in her life had she personally understood the expression ‘coupe de foudre’[1]. But here, in a stranger’s kitchen, she felt completely electrified from head to toe, absolutely struck by lightning. She had never seen anyone as beautiful as this girl. Her eyebrows were knit together in concern and hands wringing as she looked back at them. She was pretty pale, with big blue eyes, a button nose, and a smattering of freckles just under her eyes. Her hair was even prettier from the front, swept to the side in bangs. And then the girl met Alya’s eyes. Her big blue eyes turned on a dime from worried to soft and welcoming, her soft (they looked soft, at least) lips turning up in a welcoming smile.

When Alya’s heart finally restarted, it was beating so loudly in her ears she could no longer hear the tinkling voice. Even when she was looking directly at Alya and saying _something_ to her.

Nino nudged Alya hard and she shook back into consciousness. In a panic, she glanced at him and with wide eyes and a wider smirk, he gestured with his head back to the girl. What the hell had she said? What was she supposed to respond to?!

Stupidly and praying madly in her head to Ezrulie[2] that she was doing the right thing, Alya said, “I’m Alya,”

The girl smiled wide. She stepped closer to Alya and Alya could swear she caught the girl looking her up and down. Oh, shit. Did she really do a good job pulling herself together? Was her outfit flattering? Did she look hot or did she look homeless? Whatever the girl decided, she put a hand out for Alya to shake and said, “I’m Marinette. We’re so glad to finally meet you!”

 _Marinette_. Of course, Alya had heard that name before. For the past two weeks, she’d known they were going to Adrien and Marinette’s apartment. But the way this girl said her own name... _Marinette_. Nino had never done it justice.

Marinette took her seat next to Alya, looking at her once, twice, three more times before biting her lip (was she smiling? That looked like a smile. Alya was pretty sure she was smiling.) and looked at the salad on her plate.

 _Damn, Alya, pull yourself together! You can do this! She’s just one hot girl! You’ve done hot girls before!_ Alya shovelled salad into her mouth, then turned to Nino. Her eyes pleaded out _help me!_ and Nino just leaned back and grinned. He started speaking, doing absolutely the opposite of helping. “Marinette, how was work today? Alya, Marinette here is a fashion designer.”

“It was pretty exciting, actually!” Marinette said, dipping a leaf into her dressing as she talked. “I found out that another one of my designs is going to be photographed for some of our September ads. They’re hoping I can work with the graphic designer on this one, since I have graphic design background, which is a lot more work, but I’m going to charge graphic design fees, so it should pay off.” She turned to Adrien on her other side, explaining, “It’s the blue jacket with the lace back.” Marinette’s voice tinkled through the air, right next to Alya. She was practically close enough to brush arms...her skin looked soft and her arms looked strong and...

“Oh, that was a good one!” Adrien agreed.

Alya suddenly spoke up. “I’m sorry, where is your bathroom?” She asked. She had to pull herself together somehow. Function like an actual adult human being. Marinette would _never_ want to see her face again if she kept this up!

“Down the hall and to the left,” Adrien said, pointing the way.

“Thank you. Excuse me.” Alya pushed her chair out as daintily as she could and clutched her purse against her body like it was lifeblood, praying she at least looked put together as she walked away from the table where Marinette was discussing fashion and down the hall. She passed the window with the balcony and opened their bathroom, eyes trained on the pink toothbrush sitting in a holder all alone. Was that Marinette’s toothbrush? Was that in her _mouth_?

A rough, amused voice broke through her thoughts. “Alya, did you _see_ her? Girlfriend, that lady is exactly your type! It’s like they made your fantasies real!”

Alya spun around on the floating fox, eyes wide in what was practically terror. “I _know_ , Trixx! And I’m acting like an idiot!” Trixx started to giggle. “ _What?_ ” And then they giggled louder. “Trixx, _what_?!”

“Oh, just...your first conversation. You didn’t hear what she said, did you?”

Alya paled. She gripped the sink with one hand and leaned close, nose-to-nose with her kwami. “What the hell did I say?”

“She said, ‘You must be Nino’s friend, Alya! It is Alya, right?’ and then _you_ said ‘I’m Alya’. And that’s literally the only thing you’ve said to her so far before you ran off to the bathroom.”

“Oh my god!”

Trixx fell back in the air laughing, their tail following in a loop.

“Trixx, help me! I’m not normally like this!” Alya spun to face her reflection. Thank god she still looked hot. She glared at her reflection and pointed a threatening finger at it. “You are a confident, kick-ass, break-neck reporter. You are Rena Fucking Rouge. You have talked to, dated, and slept with beautiful women _and_ men before. You can talk to Nino’s friend. You _will_ be confident, you _will_ be sexy, you _will_ talk to this girl. You will flirt and you will knock her off her cute little feet.”

“Shouldn’t you just try the talking first?” Trixx asked, meeting Alya’s eyes through their reflections.

Alya paused. “Yeah. You’re right. But I have to kind of overshoot myself or else I won’t have the guts to say more than ‘I’m Alya’ five more times.”

“At least she won’t forget your name.”

“Shut _up_ , Trixx!”

“Well, let’s go before they think you’re taking too long in here,” Trixx recommended, flying to the door.

Alya took a deep breath and nodded. Trixx flew back to the purse and Alya repeated her mantra in her head the entire walk over to the table. If Alya was good at anything in a public setting, it was pretending to keep her cool. Bluffing. Marinette was looking up at her as she returned, smiling welcomingly. And so Alya... _putang, she could do this_...made eye contact and smiled back. She settled into her chair, noticing most everyone was about done with their salad. Including herself, since she’d shovelled it down in a panic-fueled hunger. “So, what did I miss?”

Nino answered after swallowing. “I was just telling Marinette and Adrien about Kiki’s boss. Hey, Alya, should we serve your dish?”

Adrien leaned forward, nodding. “It smells really good! Is it your mom’s recipe?”

Alya quirked an eyebrow at Adrien even as she lifted the foil off of the colorful bowl. “Yeah, it is. How’d you know that?”

Marinette answered for Adrien, her soft voice sending chills up Alya’s arms. “Nino’s told us all about you. Your mom’s a chef at a hotel in Marseille, right?” Alya looked over to meet Marinette’s blue, curious eyes. “You cook, too?”

Alya had to very consciously set the foil aside, then looked back at Marinette. “Yeah, I do. Manman wouldn’t let me move out of the house if I didn’t know how to cook.”

Marinette nodded and smiled. “My parents are like that too, but with baking.”

“Oh, did you make that stunning Charlotte au Chocolat you brought in?” Alya asked, feigning as if she didn’t already know that. And she could give herself a high-five when Marinette actually blushed a little.

“I did, yes! It’s for dessert.” She looked back at the chicken dish, adding, “Th-this looks really good, too. You smell great, it must be very talented. I-I mean! Oh! I meant _it_ smells great! Not that you don’t smell good, too, but I meant...I haven’t been...oh, god…”

Holy. Fuck. How could this girl be even cuter? Alya smiled wider and with a shaking hand, scooped out a helping of rice on Marinette’s plate, followed by a generous helping of the food. “I hope the chicken and I both smell good, honestly.” Marinette’s stuttering gave Alya a bit more confidence, enough that she could send a big smile and add, “You’ll have to tell me how it tastes, though. It’s Chicken Colombo; a Martinican recipe.”

“Oh, thank you,” Marinette said softly, picking up a forkful. Alya watched her quietly, excitedly, until Nino cleared his throat.

“Hey, dude. Want to serve the rest of us, too? Or are we all just going to watch you feed Marinette?”

Alya spun on Nino with blazing eyes. He was grinning and laughing like this was so damn funny, so she smacked him on the thigh. “Just for that, I’m serving you _last_.” Alya ignored his complaints, dishing a mound of rice for Adrien, a mound for herself, Colombo for Adrien, Colombo for herself, and a tiny helping of rice and sauce, heavy on the vegetables and light on the meat, onto Nino’s plate. She met his eyes and stuck her tongue out at her friend.

“It’s very good,” Adrien complimented after his first bite. “I’ve never had this before!”

Alya smiled at him. “Thanks, man! It’s one of the only things from Martinique that’s really easy to make here in France. Most of the real traditional recipes call for ingredients we can’t get, or are really expensive. And I ain’t got that kind of budget.” Nino took a bite of food, eager to try what everyone else was raving about.

“I really like it,” Marinette added, catching Alya’s eyes. “I was r-right, you _do_ taste great.”

Nino spat his food all over the table.

\--iii--

Well into dinner and on her second glass of wine, Alya’s entire chair position had changed. She was now completely turned to her right, facing Marinette with one elbow on the table resting her face, ignoring Nino completely. He could catch up with Adrien. She didn’t care. Right now, all of her attention was on this bright, bubbly woman in front of her.

“And after they decide on the theme for the shoot, that’s when we just sort of hope it all works out and our work is featured,” Marinette continued. She had also turned her chair in a bit to face Alya, the last few bites of her Chicken Colombo now cold on her plate. She moved her hands when she spoke, her eyes lit up, and her entire body bounced a little when she got excited. “You can offer hints to the shoot designers, of course! I would talk them up and bring up which pieces I thought would fit...keep them displayed on my desk or in my notebook as we talked...you know.”

“Subtly pushing them in the right direction, I like it,” Alya said, smiling wide. She brushed Marinette’s arm with her free hand just briefly, adding, “You’re a sly one, aren’t you?”

Blushing a bit, Marinette ran her hand over where Alya’s had been just a moment before, adding, “I try to consider it inter-professional relationship creativity.”

“I have to do the same thing at my job. If we want to get any articles published that we weren’t directly assigned, I used to have to try and make my boss think it was his idea to begin with.”

“Exactly!”

“So I’d bring up the topic a lot, mention how much of a shame it was people didn’t talk about it...I got a _lot_ of good stories in back at La Marseillaise that way, and it’s how I landed almost every single one of my pieces that wasn’t about biodiversity here in Paris. Hopefully that will change when-” Oh, shit. She didn’t want to bring up anything about changing her department at work. She couldn’t jinx it!

“When what?” Marinette asked earnestly.

“Uh, I don’t want to be in Societé forever. I’m hoping to move departments...eventually...and then I’d have a different boss to report to.”

“Are the other bosses at work better than Henri?” Marinette asked. She sounded so honestly interested, so truly curious and hopeful that Alya would have a better experience.

“I’ve only been at Le Parisien about two months, but they _have_ to be. Henri is a total asshole. And he’s sexist, which is ridiculous, because the Societé department is mostly women. But even if the other bosses aren’t as bad, if I’m in a section where I can do interviews, or write news that matters, that will be so much better already. I’m really good at interviews,” Alya bragged.

“You do seem very good at talking to people and getting them to open up,” Marinette agreed, even as she put her hands on her knees.

“Thank you, Marinette! I’ve got a really good sense of when someone’s telling the truth or not...it’s very helpful with interviews. For example, Adrien actually hated that red wine Nino brought.”

At hearing his name, Adrien looked up from his conversation. “What? What did you say?”

Marinette was laughing already from what Alya had said. She turned to her side and answered, “That you lied about liking Nino’s wine.”

Nino jumped in his seat, immediately on the defense as he said, “Alya told me to pick it!”

Adrien glanced at them, looking uncomfortable. “I just don’t normally like red wine!”

Before Alya could announce that that was _another_ lie, Marinette did it for him. “Oh, yes you do! You’re just so picky about them, Adrien. You _never_ let me choose the wine. I don’t think you hurt anyone’s feelings!”

Nino and Alya had to promise almost three times that their feelings weren’t hurt before Adrien calmed down. When Marinette lightly tapped Alya’s elbow, it was like she’d magnetically pulled their eyes back together. Alya fluffed her hair off her shoulder as she looked back at Marinette, who softly asked, “Did you, um, catch anything _I_ said? Any lies?”

Alya’s eyebrows raised. Normally, people didn’t ask something like that. They just took her word that she was ‘good at knowing when someone told the truth’ and didn’t make a big deal out of it. Or didn’t believe her. That happened a lot, too. “You, uh...you didn’t actually get so strong by lifting bags of flour,” Alya offered. She had made a flirtatious comment about Marinette’s arms and caught the lie, but hadn’t paid it a lot of mind, more interested in how Marinette had blushed. “And that was it. You’re actually really honest, Marinette. Uh, from what I can tell. I don’t know you that well, you know.”

“I don’t like lying,” Marinette said. A lot of people said that to Alya, but she didn’t believe most of them. Deception and lies were just a natural part of conversation for most. “I had to lie a _lot_ when I was younger. And sometimes I still do. I lie if it keeps me or keeps my friends safe. But I don’t like doing it...so I won’t lie unless I really have to.”

Alya couldn’t hide a smirk. She also wanted to touch that soft skin again, so she brushed her hand against Marinette’s tight, muscled arm as she said, “And you _had to_ lie about how you got such great arms?”

Marinette went red and ducked her head a little bit, stroking her own arm at its mention. “I can’t explain it, but yeah, I did. It’s, uh, not something you should worry about, though. But I do help my dad with the flour!”

“At their boulangerie, right?”

Adrien spoke up. Apparently, he’d eavesdropped a little. “Speaking of the boulangerie, do you want to break out that dessert you made, Mari? It looked incredible.”

Marinette nearly leapt out of her chair. “The Charlotte! Of course! Do you like rum, Alya?”

Nino laughed out loud as Alya grinned- wide and hungry. “Girl, I _love_ rum.”

Marinette smiled. “I didn’t want to make any assumptions based on stereotypes.”

Alya waved her hands, butt wiggling in her chair in excitement. “Naw, that’s sweet, but that is one stereotype that is absolutely true about me.”

“Good, because I went a little bit heavy on the rum in this recipe.” She turned around and bent to get the Charlotte out of the fridge. Maybe it was the two glasses of wine, maybe it was the confidence of talking to this cute girl for over an hour, maybe it was both, but Alya craned her neck just a little to watch as Marinette bent, her perky little ass up in the air, and turned back around with a gorgeous chocolate dessert. Ladyfingers soaked in rum formed walls to hold in a pool of chocolate mousse. Alya had seen other Charlottes before. Homemade, in stores, in patisseries...this was by far one of the prettiest. The ladyfingers were still dusted in white sugar, the top was presented with beautiful fruits and painted chocolate swirls, and the dessert jiggled enticingly as Marinette presented it to the group. “Voilà!”

The group of four clapped and praised Marinette who stood with pride beaming from her face. She cut into the Charlotte and placed a generous slice on a plate for Alya, then served Nino, Adrien, and finally herself.

Alya took a bite and immediately moaned in delight. The flavors melded together with just the right bite, the right sweetness, the right _everything_ . She swallowed quickly so she could exclaim, “Mince, Marinette, you are _very good_ at baking.”

Marinette blushed and waved off the compliment. “You don’t really _bake_ a Charlotte. I just put everything together.”

“No, girl,” she pointed fiercely at the chocolate on her plate. “This is not just ‘putting everything together’. This is some quimbois[3] good shit.” She took another bite and explained, “Magic.”

Nino raised his fork in the air and said, “What did I tell you, Alya? She’s a goddess with desserts!”

“You didn’t tell me that, Nino!” Alya disagreed, shovelling in another bite. “You _should have_ , though.”

Marinette spoke up, adding, “Well, he didn’t tell _me_ th-that you were a goddess with cooking.” Alya turned to look at Marinette, her face pink, but still smiling and not hiding after saying what was obviously a flirtatious remark. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Adrien flashing Marinette a grin and a thumbs up.

Alya swallowed and tried to ignore all the nerves she felt. “So I cook, and you bake...that sounds like a pretty good team to me,” she said, lowering her eyelids and smirking at Marinette.

Marinette smiled bashfully, finally unable to keep her eyes on Alya. She grinned down at her plate and giggled. And what a beautiful giggle she had.

Nino cleared his throat. “Hey, uh, Adrien. Don’t you have a balcony in this place? A small one, right?”

“Yeah, it holds like two, three people, tops. Why?”

“Maybe Alya should see your cool balcony.”

Adrien stared at Nino blankly. “I mean, sure. Did you want to show her?”

Alya furrowed her brows, looking over at Nino, who was now glancing nervously back at her. She had a feeling she might know where this was going, but… “No, man, not me! I mean, uh...someone who lives here should show her.” Then he looked over at Marinette, adding between his teeth, “Right, Marinette?”

“Show her the...oh. Oh! Oh! Alya!” Marinette snapped to look up at Alya, face turning pink. “Do you want to see our lalbony with me?”

“Your balcony?”

“YES, the Baclanny!” She stood up with her dessert, pointing to the window Alya had passed earlier. “We can dessert our finish out there!”

Alya giggled. Marinette was really, really cute. She seemed to stumble over her words when she was nervous, because she certainly had talked just fine when they were discussing fashion, writing, and the creative process. And she loved that this incredible girl was nervous around her, too. “I would love to.”

Carrying what was left of her dessert, Alya followed Marinette out to the windowed door. She flipped a switch, turning on an outdoor light, and led Alya out to their tiny balcony. There was a small rod-iron table with two little chairs and a few potted plants- barely room for the two of them to stand. But the view was outstanding. From their vantage point, Alya could see over the trees, across the Seine to Île de Saint-Louis, and could make out the dramatic gothic spires of the Notre Dame Cathedral one more island away. Lit up against the night sky, the Eiffel Tower broke the horizon line. “This is beautiful,” Alya gushed. She set her plate on the table and walked right to the banister, leaning out and looking at their view.

Marinette was soon brushed up right next to her, sending goosebumps all along Alya’s skin. She pointed in the direction of the Cathedral and to the other side of the city across the river. “My parents live right there. That was my home until about three years ago, when I moved in with Adrien.”

“That’s when Nino got engaged,” Alya added.

“Yeah; he and Kiki moved in together, so Adrien’s second bedroom opened up.”

A pause. Alya swallowed, asking the question that had been on her mind for awhile. All throughout dinner, she had held most of Marinette’s attention, but the girl was _very_ comfortable with her roommate. “Were you two dating when you moved in?”

“Not anymore. Not by then. We dated through lycée and the first semester of University, but...it got too complicated.” That wasn’t a lie. And Marinette didn’t seem interested in explaining any more details than that. “Hey, did you go to Nino’s wedding?”

Alya paused. She looked at Marinette who, wow, was standing _very_ close to her. The wind rustled both of their hair a little bit. “Yeah, I did. I was his groomswoman.”

“That was _you_ ?!” Marinette gasped. “Oh my god! I remember you! Adrien was his best man. Kiki’s two brothers were two groomsmen, plus Kim and Max from school, and then he had that one _beautiful_ woman in a suit. I remember, it was a feminine cut. Your hair was shorter then. But I was too shy to…” Marinette blushed a little. “That was you,” she repeated, her voice almost reverent.

And Alya felt very, _very_ proud of how she filled out a suit all of a sudden. “You should have talked to me,” Alya said. “I would have remembered if we had met.”

Marinette shook her head. “But you didn’t even live here yet. What would we have done? Just hit it off at the bar and then went to your hotel and-” She stopped talking. And Marinette’s face got red faster than it had all night, even redder than when she’d accidentally said Alya tasted ‘great’. “Oh wow, I sure am proud of my Charlotte au Chocolat! I’m going to get more from my plate now!”

Alya threw back her head and laughed. “Marinette, you’re cute,” she said, hoping her voice was at least a little audible over the stampeding heart in her chest. Her comment just flustered Marinette more, making her stumble with the fork and get chocolate mousse all over her cheek. Alya stepped backwards, but kept one hand firmly on the banister. She leaned closer to Marinette and gently swiped her cheek with her thumb. Then put that thumb in her mouth to suck off the chocolate. She gripped the banister tighter: her knees were weak and she definitely did not want to collapse in front of Marinette. Who whimpered just slightly...which honestly made it even harder for Alya to pretend to be in complete control.

They held eyes for a little longer until Alya spoke. “I guess maybe you’re right. I like meeting you like this. We have more time to get to know one another. Honestly, I don’t remember most of Nino’s wedding weekend...I liked rum a little _too_ much at his bachelor party.”

“Oh, god, I heard about that party. My friend Alix went, too.”

“Oh, ouais! I remember her! The tiny little green-haired girl?”

“It’s purple now. She changes colors every now and again. But she video-chatted me and the other girls from lycée in for part of it.” Marinette made a face. “Not all of it, thankfully.”

“I bet you know more of what happened than me,” Alya muttered. She turned back to the view and looked in the direction Marinette had pointed to call home. She pointed that way as well. “I work over there. And I live waaaaaaay….” Alya pointed north, squinting, “ _way_ over there.”

“Do you like Paris so far?”

“It’s getting better,” Alya answered honestly. Alya felt her face get warm and tucked her hair behind her ear, looking to the side to see Marinette’s face. She was biting back a smile. “I mean it. Work was okay, but it’s getting better. I have a few more friends now. I have a favorite boulangerie, which is a huge part of settling in to any city-” Marinette laughed and nodded, agreeing, “-and I just met you.”

Marinette looked up and smiled softly at Alya. Then she squinted and frowned slightly. “Alya, I, um...I have a question.”

“Yes?”

“You _aren’t straight,_  right?”

“Holy shit, no.”

Both of Marinette’s hands fell on Alya’s shoulders and she exhaled so hard, Marinette’s chin fell against her chest. “Oh thank god.”

Alya laughed. She could feel her heart pounding and battering. _Play it cool, Alya, play it cool._ She leaned on the balcony and smirked. “Why, are you interested?”

Marinette suddenly seemed unable to actually answer. She looked out at the city and kind of croaked out, “I just met you.”

It took every ounce of confidence she had, but Alya channelled her inner super-fox and scooted closer to Marinette. “How long do you have to know someone before you’re interested?”

Marinette giggled in response, nearly collapsing in on herself in what Alya could only hope was nerves. The good kind...hopefully. “Maybe a week?”

Alya nodded. She made a big show of pulling out her phone and holding down the home button. “Siri, remind me to ask out Marinette in one week.”

Marinette dissolved into more giggles, but leaned against Alya as her phone mechanically chirped back “Okay, I’ll remind you,” with a date and time stamp one week from that day. Alya pocketed the phone and leaned closer to Marinette’s side.

They stood in easy silence for a little bit. Marinette had another bite of her Charlotte and Alya stole two from Marinette’s plate, promising she would share hers, too, ‘but yours is closer!’.

Alya broke the silence finally. “Did you know that you have the same name as one of my gods?”

Marinette turned in surprise, blinking. “What?”

“Well, they’re not technically gods. We call them ‘loa’. They’re like intermediaries between us and Le Bon Dieu.”

“I’m sorry, which religion?”

Alya smiled a bit nervously. “Euh...Vodou.”

Marinette’s eyes widened and her mouth formed a tiny ‘o’. “Vodou! I’ve never met someone who believes in vodou before!”

Alya laughed at that and leaned on the railing. Now was as good a time as ever to find out if Marinette was worth putting in time and effort. “Oh, Marinette, I promise you- you have. Most of us just don’t feel comfortable telling people. Lots of, uh, bad press, you know? I’m on the public records as Catholic, but I haven’t gone to church since moving here and even back in Marseille, once I was in University I would only go with my parents on Easter, Christmas, and Toussaint.” She shrugged. “But my family has _always_ been a vodou family. It’s in our blood, even if most don’t practice it. I talk to my Mami [4] back in Martinique about it sometimes. _She_ practices it. It’s nice. It grounds me to my Créole roots and our traditions.”

“That’s nice, that you have that,” Marinette said earnestly. “Do you have a church you can go to here for, uh, for Vodou?”

“Not really. It’s just the kind of thing I do alone. I read the stories, I think about the gods, I pray to them sometimes. I’m sure there are festivals and things I could go to...to me, it’s more about feeling like I have something I can rely on when I’m in trouble, or have questions about things like death. Love. Pain. Good and Evil. Joy. Making peace with...suffering, mainly.” She looked back at Marinette. “I like to try and know as much about the legends as possible. My siblings and I were raised on the Vodou stories and myths the way other French kids were raised on Cendrillon and Belle aux Bois Dormant.[5] The loa were usually the main characters...Your loa is a real badass. Marinette, I mean, Marinette the loa. She’s one of the loas of power and violence.”

“What?!” Marinette squeaked, backing up a bit. “Power and _violence?!_ ”

Alya laughed. “Hey, it’s not that bad. She can be real cruel sometimes, but she also frees those from bondage. Or drag you back, if that’s where you belong.”

“Oh, so like...justice.”

Alya shrugged with a smile. “You could say that, sure. And she has powers over werewolves.”

“Werewolves, really?”

Alya grinned and nodded. From Marinette’s wide eyes, earnest without a hint of mockery, this was going well. “That’s why I like her. I’m a dog person, right?” She winked and subconsciously touched her foxtail necklace. “I like the idea of a powerful, violent woman with control over people who turn into canines.” Alya laughed at her own joke, just lightly. “Her colors are red and black.”

For some odd reason, that, of all the facts about Loa Marinette, made Human Marinette jump the most. “Red and black?”

“Yep.” Alya glanced down at Marinette’s pink and green dress. “Actually, I bet you’d look great in red and black.”

Marinette coughed out a laugh. “I do look good in red and black.”

Oh, Alya was sure she did. “I can’t really imagine you as the violent kind, though,” Alya muttered, tapping her lip thoughtfully, “Unless those strong arms come from punching people. Which, I have to admit, would surprise me.” She smiled. She was sure Marinette absolutely could hold her own, but beat someone up? This beautiful ray of sunshine?

Only in Alya’s _wildest_ dreams.

“You never know,” Marinette said, sounding a bit suspicious. “So, is Marinette important in your religion?”

“She is to me,” Alya replied, looking back at the city. “I have a few loa who are personally more important to me. It’s just how I do it, and it’s not like I have a local priest to tell me I’m doing it wrong. Vodou is different on every island that practices it. Mami says it’s different to every practitioner, too. It’s such an old religion; you keep it a part of you for different reasons.”

“I’m glad you have that,” Marinette said. “So many people our age feel lost...anything that makes you feel connected to the universe is a good thing. I research my ancestors for that. And I’m glad you like Loa Marinette. It would be a little awkward for me if you didn’t, I guess.”

Alya laughed and nodded. “I wouldn’t hold it against you,” she assured Marinette, nudging her lightly. They were quiet for a moment as Alya watched a lit boat, full of tourists, slid by their view. “God, it’s beautiful up here.”

Marinette nodded and replied, “I don’t think I could live anywhere without a balcony. Or at least rooftop access. We’re lucky- since we have a corner apartment, we have two windows. One is to an alley, practically to a brick wall, but then we have this,” she gestured to the view.

“I have one window. And it _is_ to a brick wall.”

“Oh!” Marinette flushed red. “Well, I didn’t mean it was _bad_ , I just meant that...I think that…”

Alya laughed and stepped away from Marinette (feeling very cold where their arms had been touching), instead going to get her own dessert. “I’m teasing you. You don’t think I’d rent a place like this if I could?”

“Even after I move out from living with Adrien, though. I _love_ looking at Paris from above. I grew up with roof access for 21 years. This kind of view is a close second, and I couldn’t live a life without Paris from above.”

Alya pondered Marinette’s words as she returned with her plate. She’d spent at least a few nights a week for the past two months running all over the roofs of Paris. Seeing that view from above. With such a historically _short_ city, it made the views even more...personal? Attainable? She hadn’t done this long enough to have poetic words for it. But she could understand Marinette’s attachment. “I know what you mean,” Alya finally said. “It’s really beautiful. It’s storied, you know? There’s history in the buildings, in the streets, in the street _sizes_ , even. The city is laid out in spiderwebs that weave together and you just don’t see that from the ground. You don’t see the age and the generations and the life that the city has.”

She felt Marinette’s eyes on her and turned to meet them. Big and blue, shining in the light of the balcony and the light from the street. “Exactly,” Marinette gushed in nearly a whisper.

Alya was lost in those eyes and felt her own wander to Marinette’s lips. She was twenty-four; maybe it was time to stop _wasting_ time. And Marinette was looking at her, just waiting, and...her pocket buzzed so loudly that Alya screamed, jumping up in the air.

“One minute,” she grumbled, digging in her pocket to pull out her phone. She had a text from Nino. Nino?! He was inside! Why the hell was he texting! Alya backed away from Marinette and opened the text.

_-Didn’t want to disturb you, but Kiki’s on her way home from work so I’m going. Want to leave with me, or do you want more aLoNe TiMe with MaRiNeTtE?_

Alya glared at the phone. She looked into the kitchen and glared at Nino, who was looking back at her as if he’d done her a favor and she was rude for staring like that. Alya typed quickly, _Tell Kiki I said hi_ , and then stuffed her phone in her pocket and returned to the railing.

So the moment had been lost a little bit. But not entirely. They could hear an accordion playing softly near the river over the whoosh of the cars and the chatter of the people. Marinette and Alya filled in the gaps of silence with more talking- talking about the rooftops, about music, about creativity. Alya waxed poetic about Marseille and The Old Port. She told her all about Martinique and all the things she’d do when she got to visit her home country again now as an adult.

Marinette told her about her eccentric grandmother and about what it was like living with an ex-boyfriend and the first time Adrien brought someone home. They talked about movies, they talked about work, they talked about pets they wanted to have: Marinette had dreamed of having a hamster since childhood, and she and Adrien had discussed adopting a cat for the apartment. Alya was a dog person, but knew she worked way too often for that to be realistic. They talked about cleaning, chores, and Roombas. They talked about things that mattered and things that absolutely did not. Somewhere along the conversations, the lights inside Marinette’s apartment went out and Alya had slipped even closer into her to the point where Marinette was leaning against her body. When Marinette yawned, Alya realized that it had probably gotten late. She pulled out her phone and balked at the time...it was almost 2 am. God, what was she, 19?!

“Hey, Mari,” Alya muttered, stirring Marinette to attention, “It’s really late. I have work in the morning and I have to be there on time to hear how my article did on its first day…”

“What time is it?”

“It’s, uh, 1:49,” Alya answered, cringing a bit.

Marinette leapt to attention, suddenly not looking tired at all. “WHAT?! It’s 1:49? Alya, oh my god, I’m so sorry!”

“Hey, hey, don’t be! Why are you apologizing?!”

Marinette frantically started stacking their plates and rushing around, moving plants, moving Alya, and apparently just needing to do _something_ in her panic. “I always make everyone late for everything and lose track of time and it’s _so late_ and you’re going to be tired and not want to see me ever again and I’m so sorry and-”

“Woah, girl. You think I won’t want to see you again?” Alya laughed and put a hand on Marinette’s shoulder, slowing her down for a moment. “I was just about to ask when I _could_ see you again. Obviously not on a date, since I have to wait, um…” she did some quick mental math, then said, “six days and twenty more hours to ask for that. But...you know...I’d like to hang out again.” She gulped. “If you want to.”

“I want to,” Marinette breathed. Her eyes were glowing and trapped in Alya’s until she broke away, stumbling over her words again, “But it’s so late and you said you live so far away…”

“I don’t mind,” Alya promised. “I’ll get a cab.”

“At least let me pay for it!”

Well, Alya wasn’t _actually_ going to get a cab...she planned on letting Rena Rouge take her home. So she couldn’t accept payment. “Just let me take home some of this _amazing_ Charlotte au Chocolat and we’ll call it even.”

“Okay,” Marinette sighed. She opened the door into the dark apartment and led Alya to the front, dishing the remaining dessert into a plastic box for her to take. Marinette hastily wrote her number on top of the box, blushing the entire time and  mumbling, “So you can return the box to me when we hang out.”

Alya took the box and held it close, like it held the most important thing that had happened in this entire city. She leaned forward to lightly give Marinette a bisou goodnight and left the apartment. Alya could feel Marinette’s eyes on her until she turned down a few streets and sank to the ground, unable to transform immediately. Alya screeched with delight, kicking her feet and wiggling her butt.

As if they’d been called, Trixx flew out from Alya’s purse and did several loops in the air. “Alya! You were _amazing!_ I am so proud of you...what a _cutie!_ ”

“Trixx, she’s incredible! She’s beautiful, she’s funny, she’s nice, she’s clever, she’s…” Alya paused and sighed, already lovesick. “She’s _comfortable_ , Trixx. She’s everything I wanted.”

“Let’s take you home, girlfriend. Get some sleep.”

“There’s no way I’m going to work in two hours,” Alya announced, still not standing up and still not able to wipe off her smile. “I’ll go in at seven with all the other normal people. I should have asked when Marinette wakes up! I could have texted her to wish her a good morning!”

“You can find out later, Alya. Come on, let’s get off the ground and go home.”

“Trixx, she’s so _wonderful_ . To think, I could have met her two years ago, but we missed our chance, so _fate_ intervened and put us back in each other’s paths and-”

“Alya,” Trixx laughed, flying over to grab her face. “I’m tired. You’re tired. Can we please go home?”

Begrudgingly, Alya stood up. “Alright. But I’m not done gushing about _Mademoiselle Marinette_...putain de merde, I don’t know her last name. Trixx, I have to go back and ask her last name!”

“Why bother? Just give her yours,” Trixx teased.

That was probably the wrong thing to say, because all it took was for Alya to mutter, “ _Marinette Césaire_ ,” and she was crumpled on the street with a dopey smile and hugging her knees once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 "Coupe de foudre": Literally, "lightning strike". Used in French as "Love at first sight".  
> 2Ezrulie: The Martinique vodou god (Loa) of love. She's one of the most beloved loa and the most well-known, often represented visually to look like The Virgin Mary, since Vodou was often hidden as Catholicism.  
> 3quimbois: _Martinique Creole_ : Black magic, superstitions, etc.  
> 4Mami: Grandma  
> 5 "Cendrillion and Belle aux Bois Dormant": Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty. ('Belle aux Bois Dormant' literally means Beauty of the Sleeping Woods')


	6. Masterpieces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took us an entire third of the story, but we have reached The Heavy Irony. (hooraaaay) Irony that comes with more lovely fluff. Yes, and a bit more action!
> 
>  **Content warning: Drug reference** Fourth section. (Content is level T, not M.)

\--i--

Tuesday morning came to Marinette groggily and with a soft knock at her bedroom door. She wearily opened her eyes, turning to the right to see Tikki still snoozing on the other pillow. On the other side of her door, she heard Adrien ask, “Marinette? Are you alone?” _Alone_? Of course she was alone! She was already standing and shuffling towards the door in yesterday’s clothes when Adrien continued, “Are you decent?”

She opened the door and rubbed sleep out of her eyes. “Good morning, Adrien. Yes, I’m alone and decent...why wouldn’t I be?”

Adrien rubbed the back of his neck and gave a sheepish smile. “Well, you and Alya were up later than everyone else last night, so I didn’t…”

Oh! Marinette’s tired memory finally caught up with Adrien’s and she melted into a smile. _Alya_. She couldn’t help but smile, swinging the door wider open. “No, she went home about 2 am. She wouldn’t have stayed the night,” Marinette smiled wide and giggled, shaking her head a bit. “We’re just friends.”

Adrien scoffed. Then offered a friendly smile. “You’re standing there, looking more lovesick than I’ve seen in _years_ , and you think you’re just friends? Mari, I saw how she was interacting with you. That’s not just friends. Are you going to get dressed? I came to wake you up for work.”

“Oh, I should get dressed,” Marinette mumbled in agreement. She turned back to her room, stepping into her walk-in closet and speaking aloud, “But no, we’re just friends. I only met her yesterday! And you know how much - _yawn_ \- baggage comes with dating me...” she lifted up a shirt, put it back, and finally decided on an outfit.

“You mean because you live with your super-hot ex?” Adrien smirked, leaning against the doorway and grinning.

“No,” Marinette laughed, throwing a sock at his face and making Adrien sputter and bat it away. “You’re one of the least complicated things in my life, Adrien. I mean Ladybug...obviously. She’s caused the failure of every relationship I’ve ever had besides ours.” Marinette frowned as she stepped deeper into the walk-in closet to change. She thought over all those failed relationships. Kagami, Luka, that almost-happened thing with Charles...and then her series of dates that typically never made it past night three. She didn’t blame them all for not wanting to be with a girl who couldn’t explain her whereabouts half the time and had to leave dates early most nights. Chloé hadn’t even agreed to date number two when Marinette had to leave during the cheese course on their one try. “You’d think my luck would rub off a little in the love department.”

“Do you think it has now?”

Marinette smiled, glad Adrien couldn’t see just how wide. She zipped up her polka-dot sundress and imagined Alya once again. Her beautiful, lush, colorful hair. The way the lights had reflected and illuminated her skin. Her gestures, like adjusting her glasses, wiggling in place, touching Marinette’s arm, biting her lip… Marinette certainly hoped she had more luck this time. “Maybe. If she likes me.”

“If she likes you?! Marinette! Are you kidding? Obviously she likes you!”

Marinette left the bedroom, Tikki trailing behind as the three of them went to join Plagg at the breakfast table. “She can’t _possibly_ like me as much as I like her, Adrien,” Marinette gushed as she put a spoonful of jam onto her bread. “And who knows if she’ll like me after this week, since I don’t want to date for at _least_ a week…” She gasped, eyes wide. “Oh, god. Do you guys think I ruined everything? Have I sabotaged myself? Do you think she went home and decided I wasn’t worth it and deleted her phone reminder?!”

Adrien turned to Plagg, mumbling, “Her phone reminder?” while his kwami shrugged.

But Tikki looked up from pouring herself warm milk and set the milk down immediately, flying over to Marinette’s side. “Marinette! Don’t beat yourself up! You made the right choice and if that girl doesn’t like you for wanting to be friends first, then that’s her loss!”

Plagg spoke around his piece of cheesy baguette. “Can’t you just _ask_ her if you ruined it?”

“Plagg, that isn’t how this works,” Marinette replied sharply.

Adrien added with a laugh, “Yeah, Marinette has to stress over it for the whole week first.”

Marinette glared at Adrien, saying, “I _will_ throw another sock at you. No, I can’t just ask her. Besides, I…” Marinette paled. “I don’t have her number! I gave her mine but I don’t have hers! Oh, god! I’m going to lose contact with her! What if she drops the box and we never get in touch and I never see her again and-”

“Mari, we can just ask Nino!” Adrien answered, grabbing her hand to cut off her crazy conspiracies. “It’s not like we found her on the street. You should really finish your breakfast...you’re going to be late to work if you don’t.”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “I won’t be late, Adrien. It’s only-” her eyes flipped up to the oven clock, then widened and she fell backwards in her chair. “How is it _already_ 8:45?! I’m supposed to be at work in fifteen minutes and I haven’t even brushed my teeth! I can’t be late to work again, they’re going to send someone else to talk to the graphic designers about my ads and-” Marinette started to rush around the kitchen, stuffing her mouth too full of bread to continue yelling her panicked thoughts. Tikki flitted around, helping Marinette pack her purse while Adrien pulled her lunch out of the fridge and Plagg returned to his cheese bread.

“You’re going to be fine, Marinette. Just Ladybug to work if you have to!”

Now brushing her teeth as she ran around the apartment, Marinette pulled her toothbrush out long enough to shout, “I don’t want to do that again! People will notice, Adrien, if Ladybug keeps showing up in the morning and goes to my office building. Oh, god, where are my house keys?!”

“Here!” Tikki chirped, brandishing them in the air. “I put them in your purse!”

Adrien started putting more fruits in Marinette’s lunchbag, asking quickly, “Want me to get that number from Nino?”

“No!” Marinette squealed. She threw her pink toothbrush in the sink and nearly tripped on her face as she stepped into her pumps. “No, I don’t want to look desperate! Wait until 3 pm...no, 4 pm! No! Not exactly 4 pm, don’t make it looked timed. Ask him at 4:12 pm unless I text you first! Oh, god, Tikki, we’re gonna be late!”

“Chat Noir could take you,” Plagg offered, chomping on his bread. “I’m feeling generous this morning.”

“That would be even _more_ suspicious,” Marinette decided, shaking her head. “I’ll just have to run.”

“What, you’re not even gonna say thank you? I just offered to leave the house for you, Ladybug! During _summer vacation!_ ”

Marinette already had the door open, Tikki trailing behind with her purse, and she called over her shoulder, “Thank you, Plagg! Bisou, Adrien!”

“Wait!” Adrien yelled, “your lunch!” He scampered after Marinette, pressing her lunch into her arms and a kiss to her cheek. “Try to focus at work!”

“Oh, I’ll be able to focus, minou. Don’t forget- 4:12!”

Adrien waved goodbye. “I won’t! Remember to focus!”

Marinette waved back before shutting the door behind her. “I will!”

\--ii--

Marinette had absolutely not been able to focus. After getting to work 10 minutes late, she got the wrong type of fabric for her partner three times and wouldn’t stop giggling the entire morning. She did manage to be there before any of her coworkers were sent to explain concepts to graphic designers, but she had to send almost double the emails to explain design concepts because her mind kept wandering.

Around lunchtime, Marinette thought she might be able to have a productive afternoon, and then Alya texted her. Just a simple ‘Hey, this is Alya from yesterday’s dinner party. Charlotte au Chocolat makes an excellent breakfast ;)’ was enough to start Marinette on her parade of wedding outfit designs. She was supposed to be designing raincoats for children but instead designed five different wedding dresses, two of which were meant to accentuate a full figure, one of which was based off traditional Chinese wedding dresses, one tea-length dress that would flatter Marinette’s petite frame, and two different bridal suits.

And then, somehow, it was 5 pm.

Marinette walked on autopilot to her parents’ boulangerie, eyes and hands on her phone. Alya had only texted her a handful of times during the day, all of which Alya announced were her breaks (she was so professional! So dedicated to her work!), but now that it was five, it was like a faucet had been turned on.

By the time she arrived at her parents’, Marinette and Alya had exchanged 52 text messages. Marinette knew, because she counted them. Alya had _very_ promising numbers from her article and teased Marinette that if she had as good of numbers the next few days, she might get something out of it. But no matter how much Marinette begged, Alya assured her it would jinx it if she told what that ‘something’ was. So, not wanting to risk her tentative new friendship and unsure of how much the rum and wine had made Alya so friendly and flirty, Marinette had changed the topic to discussing a dog she noticed on her walk. Alya had a _lot_ of thoughts about the dogs on Paris streets.

Marinette pushed her way into the boulangerie-patisserie. She giggled at her phone, pushing past a handful of customers on their way home from work and ran into one of them. “Pardon, Monsieur! I didn’t see you!”

“Maybe you should look at the world around you and not your phone, Mademoiselle,” he sneered.

“You have a nice day too, Monsieur,” Marinette replied, smiling sweetly before taking a wide step around him, returning to Alya’s adamant defense of the Chihuahua and Marinette’s path to the boulangerie kitchen. “Cou-cou, Maman,” Marinette sang out, not even looking up as she wormed her way behind the counter.

Out of the corner of her eye, Marinette saw her mother put a hand on her hip and turn her attention towards Marinette. “Marinette, who are you texting?”

“A friend,” she replied, giggling at the next text that came in- a picture of a Chihuahua at a local dog shelter with big, bug-eyes.

“Oh, something is up with you,” Sabine said, already starting to take off her apron. “It sounds like it’s times for a Girls Chat.”

“I don’t need a Girls Chat, Maman,” Marinette assured her, pushing past to go to the kitchen.

But apparently, Sabine disagreed. “Manon, chèrie, I’m taking my break now. Can you watch the front of the store?”

“Madame Cheng, are you sure…?”

Sabine patted Manon’s shoulder confidently. “Yes, I am. It will just be a moment and Tom, Marinette, and I will be on the other side of the door if you need anything.”

“Maman, I’m fine,” Marinette laughed, waving her hands as she looked up from her phone. “You don’t need to take a break, I’m just here to help with the Soldes boxes and-“

“Oh, no, mon cœur. You don’t take this from me.” Sabine’s eyes twinkled and she got on her tip-toes to kiss Marinette’s forehead. “I’m making us some tea and we are having le goûter[1] with some nice cookies and Girls Chat. I want to hear about your new crush!” Sabine winked and turned through the door, leaving Marinette floundering behind her.

“My new crush?! Who said anything about a new crush?!” She pushed through the swing door into the kitchen where Sabine was stealing a kiss from Tom on her way to the private home. “Maman, I didn’t say anything about a new crush!”

Tom spun around, laughing heartily. He held Sabine in his grip, facing their daughter. “Oh ho, I haven’t heard our little Marinette fight back against that kind of insinuation since she was in school! Who is it, mon poussin?”

“Papa, it’s no one! She’s just a friend!”

Sabine gasped and smiled wide, looking up at Tom and smacking his chest with the back of her hand. “Why, that was practically a confession!”

“No, it wasn’t!”

“Tom, Marinette and I need our tea.”

“Girls Chat?” he asked, smiling under his mustache.

Sabine grinned _wide_ and nodded. “I’ll come find you when it’s time to start closing up shop, alright?”

“Don’t be long, ma bichette.” Tom leaned down for another kiss, so Marinette left her giggling, cooing parents to start the boiling water herself. They’d honestly become even more affectionate as empty-nesters. Maybe her mom would just ignore Marinette and stay in the boulangerie kitchen…

No such luck. Just when Marinette sat down at the table, Sabine pulled up a chair. “Alors!” Sabine started, eyes sparkling. “Do you want to know how I knew?”

“Knew what, Maman?” Marinette asked, crossing her arms and pouting. She felt ten years younger than her actual age. She bet Alya’s parents weren’t like this.

“Knew you had a new crush, mon cœur!”

“I don’t have a...I don’t…”

Sabine sighed, smiling lovingly, and stood up to get the whistling electric kettle. “Green tea, chèrie?” She poured into two mugs and set leaves to steep, all while talking. “Marinette, I was the one you talked to about crushes all of collège. And you kept me updated with Adrien all of lycée. You have grown and matured so much, but Marinette...I know my daughter when she’s smitten.” She turned around and set the mugs on the table. “You’re smitten. You can’t stop smiling, you won’t look away from your phone, you were downright kind to that rude patron earlier...on a bad day you would have punched him right in the store!”

Marinette didn’t reply. She just dropped her sugar in the tea and pouted, glancing at her phone. But not answering the texts that lit it up. She wouldn’t give her mom that satisfaction. Sabine continued, “But you insist you’re just friends. Is she a new friend?”

Finally, Marinette looked up at Sabine. She looked curious, kind, and patient. And so Marinette let herself smile. “Yes. I just met her yesterday.” At that one simple admission, she hid her face behind her hands and squealed. “Is that bad?”

“No, mon cœur! People all over get crushes the first time they meet someone. You were like that with Adrien, remember? I had plenty of crushes like that before I met your dad. Tell me...how did you meet?”

Marinette hesitated. “You won’t tease?”

“I promise, I won’t. Not today, at least.” Sabine winked. Marinette decided that was good enough.

“She’s Nino’s friend. They were friends back when he lived in Marseille as a kid, but she moved to Paris recently, so he wanted her to make more friends. We had a dinner party...you know, that’s why I needed to use your mould to make the Charlotte au Chocolat?? It was a big hit, by the way. She cooked the dinner.” Marinette sighed. “ _Chicken Colombo_. It was delicious, Maman.”

“And what’s she like?” Sabine took a testing sip of her tea and opened the bag of cookies.

Marinette put her chin in her hands and sighed. “She’s smart. Funny. A little flirtatious...but that could have been the wine. She’s a _writer_ ,” Marinette gushed, stirring her tea and looking at her mom with stars in her eyes.

“What does she write?”

“She writes the world’s history as it turns,” Marinette sighed.

Sabine stifled a laugh at that response. “That’s very poetic, mon cœur. Did you think of that yourself?”

“No, she did. Isn’t it a _beautiful_ expression? Don’t you just want to...take a bath in a sentence like that? Maman, she said that’s what she _wants_ to do, but I believe she’s already doing that. Anything she writes must be beautiful if she just talks like that.”

“So..she’s a historian, then?”

“Oh, no, a journalist. For a daily newspaper. So you know she works very, very hard!” Marinette grinned down at her cup and grabbed a cookie to play with as she spoke. “So we’re both creative-types. We talked a lot about creativity. Hitting mental walls. Inspiration. Things like that.”

“You’ve never dated a writer before. I wonder what that will be like!”

Marinette snapped her cookie in half with a soft frown. She dipped one half of the cookie in her tea and complained, “Maman, I told you, we’re just friends. We’re not dating!”

“I know that, Marinette. I didn’t say you were dating her. Just that you haven’t dated a writer before.” Marinette paused. She couldn’t argue against that. In the silence, Sabine prodded a bit more, “So...she’s a journalist. What does she look like?”

Marinette giggled before she answered. “She’s tall and beautiful and has the most _incredible_ hair. Dark brown, but it fades into this amazing firey red towards the end. Curly. God, I could paint that hair, Maman. I don’t even like painting! But it deserves to be _painted_. She has this one birthmark,” Marinette pointed right above her eyebrow, giggling as she thought about it. “It’s so cute. And it moves when she raises her eyebrows. She does that a lot. She wears glasses. She wore a really pretty blue top with a cute necklace last night.” When Marinette looked up at her mom, she wore an odd expression on her face. Thoughtful. Eyebrows knit together, wondering something. “What? What, Maman?”

“What newspaper did you say she writes for?”

“Oh, I didn’t say. It’s, um, Le Parisien? I think you keep them in the store sometimes.”

Sabine’s odd expression broke into a smile. She laughed lightly, stirring her tea and shaking her head at something funny only to her. “Le Parisien, really?  How about that...Well, _I_ think she sounds _wonderful_. Are you going to ask her out?”

“Maman, I don’t even know if she likes me, really. We only met yesterday!”

“If she likes you, will you ask her out?”

Decisively, Marinette said, “I’m giving it a week. A week to see if I still like her.” She nodded sternly, but then melted into her hands again, squealing, “But I already know I will!” She fumbled with her phone, waving it at her mother. The lock-screen was up, a picture of her and Adrien messing around  wearing outrageous clothes for a runway, but in front flashed ‘Alya: 4 New Messages’. “She’s so _funny_ and she’s so friendly and she’s so great and she’s been texting me! So really, I just am waiting a week to see if _she_ likes _me_.”

“Mon cœur, I’m sure she already does. You’re amazing! What’s not to like?”

Marinette put her phone back close to her and made a face at her mom. “You have to say that. You’re my mother.”

Sabine sipped her tea and glanced at the time, then sighed. “Oh, Marinette, I’m going to miss having you around so often when Soldes ends. You’re sure you don’t want to move back home with your Maman and Papa?”

“I’m sure, Maman. Adrien and I are talking about getting a cat.”

Sabine let out a long hum of disapproval. They had a strict no pet policy in their home, not wanting to risk any pet dander getting anywhere near the kitchen. “And how does your girlfriend feel about cats?”

“Alya’s a dog person, actually, but she...wait! MAMAN!” Sabine chuckled and stood up with her cup of tea. “Maman, she’s not my girlfriend! MAMAN! You said you wouldn’t tease!”

“I’m not teasing, Marinette! You just assumed I meant _Alya_.”

“What other girlfriend would I have?! Not that I...Alya isn’t... _Maman!_ ”

Sabine bent over and kissed Marinette’s forehead. “I’m not sure I trust you piping macarons tonight, mon amour. You’re a little shaky, still. Why not text your...new friend...and look into making dinner for us all, hmm? You can help proof the pastries tonight instead.”

Marinette laughed nervously, gesturing to herself. “I’m not _shaky_ , I’m-” but as she swung her hand around to pat her chest, she knocked over her cup of tea. Sabine took a step to the right, grabbed a towel, and tossed it on the table as Marinette leapt up and swore at the hot liquid. The two silently worked to clean up the mess and Marinette finally mumbled, “Fine, I’ll start dinner.”

\--iii--

Friday evening, Alya left work a little bit early. Well, a little early for her standards- the day before, she had officially been moved to the Paris section. It took all of Thursday to get her bearings and understand the politics of the ‘Ma Ville’ section of the paper, which covered news particular to cities around Île de France and Oise. The Paris section was the largest with multiple in-house writers, most of the rest of the staff at ‘Ma Ville’ collecting articles emailed in from their correspondents around the area or from contract employees. Similar to the kind of correspondent work Alya would be doing for La Marseillaise once she found her footing here.

La Marseillaise had no interest in articles about plastic bags and the electric grid of Paris. But news that affected the capital city? Updates on their own favorite heroine Rena Rouge? They would probably like updates on that.

Once Alya understood how ‘Ma Ville’ ran itself, she was able to get to work on Friday and write a test article for her new boss, Lorraine. Lorraine wouldn’t have notes until the morning (or even more likely, Monday), which was convenient, because Alya had places to be. She took a subway to the stop closest to the Louvre, texting Marinette all the while. She was still 24. She had a year and a half of free admission to the Louvre left and had only visited once since moving to Paris. (Stopping a break-in as Rena Rouge hardly counted.) She needed a local Parisian to show her around the museum!

And what better local Parisian than her new friend, Marinette Dupain-Cheng! _Dupain-Cheng_ , the last name she pried from Nino right before a double dinner not-a-date only after admitting that yes, she was gorgeous and yes, Alya was a little bit completely in love already.

And so she pattered around the stone-tiled courtyard of the Louvre, next to the glass pyramid and just waiting for Marinette. They had gone out to dinner with Nino and Kiki once this week, but besides that, they had only texted. Alya was feeling anxious, missing Marinette’s doll-like face, and counting down the days until Monday night, when she could ask Marinette out for real.

So when she finally saw Marinette approaching the glass pyramid, clutching her purse and looking around with a small concentrated frown, Alya wiggled in place and screamed. Damn fox traits. She couldn’t turn them off.

As embarrassing as the scream was, it did its job. Marinette turned and looked in Alya’s direction. Alya waved frantically, feeling a grin nearly pulling her face apart, but seemed to match the enthusiasm of Marinette’s grin. She walked towards Marinette as quickly as she could without running, giggling to herself as Marinette did the same. Marinette put her hands out low enough for Alya to grab and they leaned in for a bisou on each side. “Marinette! It’s so good to see you again!” Alya gushed, immediately hugging her.

“You too, Alya! I’m so glad you invited me to show you around the Louvre!”

“I figured one of my more visually creative friends should do the honors,” Alya said, pulling away just enough to nudge her.

Marinette blushed slightly as they headed down to the entrance. Alya got a whiff of perfume, which Marinette certainly hadn’t wore the first night they met, but _had_ to dinner with the Lahiffes. It was flowery, delicious, and addictive. “How was work?” Marinette asked as they joined the line of people looking to take advantage of the late Friday hours.

“It was great today. I spent the whole day researching and writing an article about local street performers. But it’s a test article. I doubt we’ll run it...Lorraine- she’s my new boss I told you about- just wants to make sure my style fits with the other writers. She’s also having me write about one of the politicians for a weekend assignment.”

Marinette stuck out her tongue in disgust as they advanced in the line. “You get homework from your job?”

Alya raised her eyebrows and nudged Marinette. “Okay, Mademoiselle ‘I spend all night designing’. Who was the one sending me pictures of _her_ work at 9 pm last night?!”

“That’s different! That isn’t an assignment.”

“Oh, so you _choose_ to do additional work outside of your contracted hours. Alright. And that’s significantly better because…?”

“Because it’s my choice,” Marinette replied, pulling her head up in pride and making Alya laugh. Their banter carried them all the way to the front of the line and into the museum and into the Greek and Roman sculptures.

Suddenly, Alya wasn’t sure if this was the best place to take Marinette. She didn’t mind that they were surrounded by centuries-old white marble naked men. That was fine! But was this too stuffy for a friend hangout? Was Marinette, called in as Alya’s ‘most visually creative friend’, going to expect Alya to have long chats about Art History with her? Was she going to end up looking like an idiot and ruining their friendship before she could ever ask her out?!

Marinette pointed at one sculpture in particular, a man twisting to reach something, and giggled. “Look at his butt,” she whispered.

Maybe Alya’s fears were unfounded after all. Alya snorted in laughter. “They _all_ have butts, Marinette. Look at _that_ guy’s package. Do you think they liked them that small back then?”

“I guess so, they all seem to be about the same size,” Marinette mumbled, looking around. “We didn’t focus on sculpture much in my Art History classes, but I do know a lot of them got censored. So maybe-” Marinette interrupted herself with a twist of the head and a gasp. She ran over to a sculpture up against the wall. Quickly, Alya followed. This sculpture was a nude woman, bending with one knee up and holding the cloth that draped over her leg. She looked down at her leg, curly hair piled on top of her head. Alya touched her own hair, textured like that, and smiled to herself.

“Look at this fabric!” Marinette gasped. “Look how the folds are carved! It looks soft!” Alya looked at Marinette’s expression and felt very, _very_ confident now that she’d chosen the right place. Marinette’s eyes glittered as she looked at the sculpted folds, now talking quickly about the types of fabric it might be. She didn’t stay at the naked woman long, rushing to another nearby with fabric draping over the man’s arm and waist. She talked to Alya all in a rush about the wind and the fabric and how it would move. It was similar to the passion Alya had seen at dinner earlier that week when Marinette would talk about her designs. Alya had to put a hand up to cover her mouth, lest her giant smile give any overeager feelings away.

Marinette glanced up at Alya and bit her lip. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m getting carried away! I’m so sorry, I’m rambling.”

“What? No!” The hand that had covered Alya’s mouth instead went out to grab Marinette’s elbow. “I _love_ how excited you are. It’s adorable. And incredible. Marinette, you’re so passionate and that’s a really, really great thing.” She looked around them and said, “I just wish _more_ of these sculptures had clothes for you to talk about. Like...this lady,” she pointed to a woman completely nude, leaning against a tree and standing contrapposto, with one hand under her breast. “She’s not wearing a thing...she’s not even standing in a cool pose! She’d be way more interesting if she had a cape on or something.”

Marinette followed Alya’s gaze, eyes widening. She smiled. “Ooh, I could see that. Maybe a caped gown. With some pleating along the top...and give her peasant sleeves to play off the cape that could flow so nicely the way she’s holding her arms.” Marinette started to grin, walking closer to the sculpture before turning back to Alya. “Yes, and definitely in a nice, light fabric.”

Alya looked around again, enjoying their new game. “What about that guy? With the beard? Chilling naked with his leg up on that pile of fabric?”

Marinette walked over to that one, adding, “The grumpy guy! Yes! Oh, he would be hard to dress at this angle. But...hmmm…” Marinette opened her purse and pulled out a sketchbook, tapping against her cheek. Alya stepped closer behind her, watching in adoration and surprise as Marinette deftly sketched out the man’s figure from their angle. “Whatever he wears is going to be bunched up here, here, and here. Maybe he’s in...a suit?”

“He’s grumpy,” Alya commented, “And he’s got his foot in the air like he’s climbing up onto that pile. Maybe he could be a motorcyclist.”

Marinette threw her head back and laughed. “I love it!” She narrated as she drew. “So he’ll need leather pants, then. And a leather jacket...with _fringe_ .” Alya giggled behind her as Marinette drew, quickly and confidently. Finally, she had a finished, quick sketch. “There! It works _great_ with his beard, too!”

“Let’s do another one!” Alya said, grinning.

Marinette dug into her purse again. “I have another sketchbook; you can try too!”

Balking, Alya quickly said, “Oh, no, no, I can’t draw. You’ll be horrified, Marinette!”

“It’s just for fun,” Marinette assured her, pressing the book into Alya’s hand. It was well-worn and dog-eared with little doodles of ladybugs all across the cover. “I promise I won’t judge you.”

Alya made a big show of sighing and said “Oh, alright,” before she took the sketchbook. Marinette giggled much more than her joke deserved, until Alya was giggling, too. She felt warm, she felt happy, and she felt more interested in staring into Marinette’s crystal blue eyes than the masterpieces around them.

Eventually, Marinette pulled her attention away and led Alya to a woman leaning ever so casually on a giant fish. “Here! She’ll be fun!” Marinette started to sketch and Alya flipped through her book, looking for an empty page. She started flipping a little slower, admiring all the amazing drawings inside. Most were fashion designs. Some were lazy patterns. A few were skylines of Paris, beautiful views of rooftops and gardens. A silhouette that caught Alya’s breath...Rena Rouge? Maybe? It looked like her figure, her ears poking against a full moon... It was drawn lightly and scratched out, so it was hard to tell. There were kittens, flowers, a round sleeping figure (maybe a cartoon, from its giant spotted head and tiny body), a quick sketch of Adrien wearing glasses and reading a thick book. A drawing of Chat Noir, pouncing over the roof. Near the end were stunning wedding gowns, more cityscapes, and a dog that Alya recognized. She grinned- it was one of the dogs Alya had photographed and sent to Marinette as part of her week-long quest to convince her that dogs were better than cats.

“Hey, I know this dog,” Alya announced, putting a finger to the drawing.

“What dog?” Marinette asked, not even looking up from her own sketchbook. The woman was already drawn on her paper, including the fish, who Marinette had given a top-hat. She was in the process of drawing a fluffy ball-gown on the woman.

“The dog you drew in here,” Alya explained.

Marinette turned, noticed what Alya had seen, and paled. “I just- I just- I just thought he was really you! I mean cute! The dog, not you! I thought the dog was really cute and I- I- drew it!”

Amused, Alya’s eyebrows rose and she chuckled. “I know. You did a great job.” She smirked and leaned closer to Marinette. “Are you becoming a dog person, Mademoiselle?” Marinette gulped and shrugged. Clearly at a loss for words. Alya grinned. She wanted to touch Marinette. She wanted to hold her. She wanted to wrap her up and kiss her all over. So Alya settled for rubbing a shoulder instead. “Aw, don’t be ashamed. I knew I’d seduce you over to the dog side eventually.”

Marinette’s face went bright red. Alya heard her words, her eyes went wide, and she stumbled as she tried to take it in stride. “Yep! The dog side! That’s the only thing I’m trying to do! Yep! Alright, so, this fish lady…!”

Alya’s face was hot and Marinette wasn’t helping any with her constant giggling. Marinette’s face was hidden behind her sketchbook, so Alya quickly found that open page and started scrawling a stick-figure woman leaning on a fish the very best that she could.

Neither girl ended up happy with their fish woman design, both still distracted by the dog mishap, so they joined the crowd surrounding _Cupid Revived by Psyche’s Kiss_ . Alya felt all too overwhelmed to draw even a doodle of this one. But damn it, she was going to try. The arms looked noodley, the bodies felt wrong, but at least she managed to get the posture. Alya glanced at Marinette’s, once again in awe at her attention to detail, and then decided to work on dressing these two lovers. And she decided with a smirk that _her_ Cupid would wear bell bottoms.

As Alya started to draw the bell-bottoms, she paused. _Only if you like them, Cupid_ , she thought as loud as she could. _I need your help, man. I don’t know if you’re real or not, but if you are, help a girl out. I’ll give you the coolest bell bottoms I can draw!_

The girls drew clothes onto the masterpiece, occasionally looking at their drawings and giggling. Alya couldn’t help but gush to Marinette how detailed and beautiful her designs were, Marinette seemingly couldn’t stop praising Alya on her creativity. After Cupid and Psyche (Alya’s were drawn in bell-bottoms and a deep V-neck disco shirt to match Psyche’s Go-Go dancer outfit, and Marinette’s were drawn as pirates with big, dramatic hats), they went on to give clothing design to four more sculptures.

Eventually, Marinette looked at the time on her phone (she’d pulled it out to get a reference of a Rococo-style dress for one of the athlete sculptures) and squeaked. “Alya! We’ve been down here for an hour and a half and haven’t seen anything but this room! I’m supposed to be showing you the best parts of the Louvre!”

Alya looked up from her sketchbook and drawing. Looking into Marinette’s eyes, she already had the best parts of the Louvre. “Oh, I don’t mind. We can go look at different stuff, but I’m not in a rush.” She shrugged. “We could always come back, too! It’s not like we paid to get in here.”

Marinette’s expression changed from worry, to curiosity, to a smile, to something that was probably absolutely equally adorable, but hidden behind her sketchbook. “Sure, we could always come back,” she agreed from behind the book. Marinette pulled the book back down and, still smiling, said, “but let’s at least go look at some paintings. Do you have a favorite you want to see? Please don’t say _La Jaconde_ [2] .”

Alya laughed. “No, I’ve seen her already. I think once is enough for a lifetime. Actually, I do have a favorite. _La Liberté guidant le peuple_ [3]...that one is here, right?”

Grinning, Marinette nodded. “I even know where it is! First floor. We’ll pass the _Nike of Samothrace_ on our way….I think it’s actually next to the _La Jaconde_ room, too.”

Putting out a hand, Alya smiled. She noticed how Marinette looked at the hand first, then looked up at Alya, then took it. “Lead the way, Marinette,” Alya said softly. She was glad she wasn’t the one who had to walk. Hand in hand with this girl, Alya wasn’t sure she could figure out walking on her own. It was nice to just stare at the beautiful pattern of their fingers as they walked through the museum together.

Alya was terrible at keeping this “friend get together” entirely platonic. But honestly? It never was.

\--iv--

After the Louvre closed for the night, Alya and Marinette said a polite goodbye. An almost-awkward one, where the hug lingered a little too long and the bisous hovered a little too close to the corner of one anothers’ mouths. Alya floated the entire way home and recounted the entire thing to Trixx multiple times...even though they’d been there, too.

Hours later, she still wasn’t satisfied reliving the night and Rena Rouge sat on the roof of the Louvre palace, looking down at the empty courtyard, remembering the soft brush of Marinette’s hands and the pretty pink flush of her face.

She sat far enough on the roof to stay hidden, head tossed back and wind flitting through her auburn-white hair. Laughs of delight bubbled just under her smiling lips. At her age, crushes were often, well, _crushing_. But this crush on Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the most incredible girl in France?

Alya didn’t normally giggle to herself on rooftops at 11 pm, if that was any indication on how this one felt.

When Rena was still sighing up at the cloudy sky, a stern, judgemental voice shook her and nearly toppled her off the roof. “What are you doing here?”

Rena adjusted her grip on the roof tiles and blinked, adjusting her night-vision to see Ladybug standing with a hand on one hip, antennas down, but eyebrows up. “I’m allowed to be here, Punaise. What are _you_ doing here?”

“Patrolling,” Ladybug replied. _Lie_.

Rena narrowed her eyes. What was Ladybug really here for? Something nefarious? Something underhanded? “Where’s Chat Noir?”

“He’s....patrolling a different part of the city.” _Lie_.

“No he’s not, bug. Where is Chat Noir?”

Ladybug rolled her eyes and groaned. “Right, you can...smell lies. He’s at home. I didn’t need his help tonight.”

Rena carefully stood up, squinting at Ladybug and asking, “You didn’t need help...with your ‘patrol’?” she asked, throwing air quotes in for good measure.

“That’s right,” Ladybug answered in a half-truth. She turned away from Rena, looking down at the courtyard. There was something on her mind, some other reason to be here. But she wasn’t sharing. “How long are you planning on staying here?”

“Why? You got someone to meet?”

“No,” Ladybug answered. Which...was the truth. “I didn’t expect anyone here.” She spun to face Rena, arms crossed and pouting angrily. Her lips looked way too full to be a threatening pout- it was honestly more cute and pitiable than anything. “ _Especially_ you.”

“Looks like you can’t always get what you want, Princess,” Rena snarled, rolling her eyes. “I didn’t expect you either.”

Ladybug opened her mouth to retort, but shut it quickly, right as Rena heard angry voices below them. Both heroines silently stepped to the other edge of the roof, peering down below them. Two men were arguing, one in a hoodie and a beard, the other in a T-shirt with a windbreaker hanging loosely on top. “That man in the hoodie- he was here earlier today,” Ladybug muttered.

Rena recognized him as well; a busker, selling cheap Eiffel Tower keychains to tourists. The kind that would pick your pocket if you spent too long fiddling around for a euro. “You were here earlier today?” Rena asked, looking at Ladybug in surprise.

Mockingly, Ladybug smarted back, “I’m allowed to be here, Rouge.” Rena silently mimicked the mocking retort with an exaggerated sneer, then turned to the arguing men again.

She listened closer, picking up street-slang for weed and a disagreement about payments. “They’re dealers,” Rena muttered. “Jacket is a supplier, Hoodie is one of his dealers. Sounds like Jacket raised his prices and Hoodie doesn’t like it.”

Ladybug rolled her shoulders and cracked her neck. “Alright, then. Sounds like you and I have some busting to do.”

Rena’s attention changed from the two men to the woman next to her. “Are you crazy? Why?”

“Why?!” Ladybug looked back, still gesturing to the men. “They’re breaking the law!”

“It’s a stupid law,” Rena fought back. “That drug isn’t really harmful, you know. They’re not selling crack, or X, or something that could actually hurt them. I mean, for god’s sake, _tobacco_ is worse than this and I don’t see you tackling every smoker on every Paris corner.”

“Illegal drug dealing is always dangerous, Rouge! No matter what they’re dealing! It comes with violence, it comes with selling harder drugs, it comes with threats and murder and all sorts of violent, terrible things.”

“Are you seriously trying to pin them with a slippery slope argument? Really? What is this, debate club for collègiennes?”[4] Rena rolled her eyes. Of _course_ that was Ladybug’s thought. No wonder she had such a stick up her ass if she thought every toe out of line was a toe off a cliff.

“Even if they’re not involved in something else, it’s the law and they need to follow it,” Ladybug disagreed.

“You mean throw these two idiots in jail and fine them thousands of euros? So we can line the pockets of the state? Bug, come on! We’re in Europe in 2018! Spain and Switzerland don’t care about marijuana. Most countries at _least_ legalize the medicinal purposes.”

“Then they can get on a train and buy some there. We’re not in Spain or Switzerland. We’re in the capital of _France_ , where it _isn’t legal_ .” Ladybug snapped. Her wings buzzed angrily on the last word. “This isn’t about whether or not it _should be_ legal, it’s about our duty to our city and our country.”

“What duty? The city doesn’t pay my bills! I’m no cop!”

“As a _vigilante_ , we’re supposed to uphold the laws-”

“Says fuckin’ who, Ladybug? Huh? If a law is unjust, you need to fuckin’ break it.” Rena’s whisper was getting intense and harsh on her voice. Spit was flying, which Ladybug wiped off her face with a dramatic swipe of her glove.

“Oh, so you’re saying we should just...go around breaking laws we don’t like? Ignoring fines and driving on the sidewalk because it gets you there faster? Is that what this is?”

“I’m saying I don’t have to uphold any stupid backwards laws that were written out of ignorance and probably a bit of racism.”

“Racism?!”

“-Especially when you and I have way more important things to worry about. Cruelties and inhumanities that actually hurt people.” She waved a glove down at the two men, continuing, “If they want to waste their money on feeling good and getting munchies, they’re not hurting any-...oh, _nique ta mère.” [5] _

“What did you say?!” Ladybug snarled defensively, wings buzzing again and lifting her a good inch or two off the ground.

“Not _your_ mother, Punaise, I just...fuckin’...” Rena growled down at the men below. Hoodie was now brandishing a knife and Jacket had his hand on what looked like a gun. Those idiots were proving Ladybug _right_ and that wasn’t cool at all.

Ladybug hovered over and looked down at them, quietly chirping, “Oh. Oh! Oh! Et toc, Rena! Et toc![6]”

“Yeah, yeah, shut up, Punaise.” Rena brandished her flute with a dramatic sigh. “But we’re not beating them up because of the weed. Got it?”

“They’re getting violent because of weed. I’m right, Rouge!” Rena glared so hard that her eyebrows hurt. And so Ladybug relented, “Fine, we’ll compromise on your thing. I’ll take Jacket. Don’t kill anybody, Fox.”

“You’re the only one on my kill wish-list anyway,” Rena sassed back. She leapt into the air and somersaulted twice in mid-air, then screamed on her way down, startling the man and his knife before flattening him to the ground, busting his knees as they went down.

Ladybug hovered directly over the fight. Rena looked back to see her fling her yo-yo at Jacket, just as he whipped out his gun and aimed up at the floating red hero. He fired, but she wrapped her yo-yo around the wrist, so his bullet shot off at the wrong angle entirely, nicking the stone wall and ricocheting into the night. Ladybug pulled up, reeling Jacket by the wrist up to her as he screamed, his gun clattering uselessly on the ground.

Rena took that moment to force the heel of her palm on Hoodie’s throat, who gasped and choked on air. His fingers spread wide and his knife fell to the side. With a single swipe, Rena picked it up and put it between her pointed teeth. She grinned down at her prey, although he couldn’t see a thing as he squeezed his eyes shut in pain.

She rolled off of him and collected Jacket’s gun from the street, opening and emptying it, leaving a spray of bullets on the ground and the empty magazine. She hated guns. They were cowardly, they were tacky, and they did no real good for anybody that she’d seen. So Rena took Hoodie’s dropped knife and jammed it into the open hand-grip, rendering this gun as useless as Rena felt it was. For good measure, she closed one eye and aimed at Jacket, gasping for air on the ground. She chucked the weapon at his stomach. “There’s a lot easier ways to get high and make a buck, dude. You’re obviously involved in the wrong circles.”

She walked back to her prey, whose eyes were now open wide. He was looking up at her with a panic that she recognized; the panic of a man who knew Rena Rouge. It made her smile. _So you’ve seen my work!_ Rena bent down, eye-to-eye with Jacket. “You know who I am, don’t you, buddy? You’re scared of me, aren’t you? Lesson number one about Rena’s Reign in Paris. If you’re not doing anything _actually wrong_ , you have nothing to be scared of.” She used a clawed glove to poke his forehead, digging in not quite hard enough to pierce skin. “And from your expression, sounds like you do have something to be scared of. Do you do anything Rena should know about besides sell beuh [7]?”

In a strained voice, he replied, “n-no!”

Rena threw her head back and groaned. He was lying. “Aw, man! Why you gotta be lying about that? Why can’t you just be a stoner who also sells cheap keychains and doesn’t mess around with what he shouldn’t?” She shook her head and smacked his. Then gestured up to Ladybug, who was busy lecturing Jacket as she attached her Lucky Charm handcuffs to his wrists. “I was trying to prove something to Miss Goody Two Shoes and you go proving _her_ point instead. Honestly? That’s even worse than whatever crap you were trying to pull tonight..” She sighed again. “And I was having a really, really good fucking day before this, too. Stupid.” She kicked his bad knee and waited for his yowl of pain to subside. “So, what is it? Pick-pocketing?”

“N-no!” he lied.

Rena rolled her eyes. She wasn’t surprised. “You sell hard drugs?”

“N-no way!” Huh. That one, at least, wasn’t a lie.

“Involved with gangs?”

“Uh-” his eyes looked up at Ladybug’s prey, who was rolling his eyes at Ladybug’s continued words of...frankly, it looked like a pep talk from Rena’s angle. But she looked back at him and got the confirmation she needed. Yes, he was absolutely involved with gangs.

“You disrespect women? Hurt and abuse and things like that?”

“No, madame!” _Lie, lie, lie_.

“God, you’re such a fucker,” Rena snarled, bringing a hand to her face and dragging it down in frustration. Then pounded a fist into his stomach. He choked again, this time gripping a broken rib. “I’m so frustrated I can’t even mess you up right. You better hope I don’t see you again, Hoodie. Not around tourists, not around the Louvre, not nowhere. Do the police have your name? A warrant for arrest, that kind of thing?”

“I -cough- I’m not on the run, I swear!” _Lie_ . An obvious one, really, considering she just saw him doing all sorts of shady shit. “They don’t want me! _” Lie._

Rena pouted. It was too easy and too nice, but she was in a foul mood. She pushed Jacket down one more time and sat on his stomach, ignoring his coughs of protest and the crackling of a second rib. “Ladybug?” She called out, voice gravelly in frustration with herself. “I think we need to leave these two for the police after all.”

Ladybug blinked. She grabbed her man around the waist and leapt easily down to street-level, then asked, “Well, what else would we do? Send them to Disneyland?”

“I usually drop mine off at the hospital or in a dumpster, honestly,” Rena muttered. “Depending on my mood.” Better let the rats have them then see what protective custody and lawyers could do.

Ladybug’s look of horror was so perfect, so beautiful, Rena wished she could frame it and laugh at it forever. “I can’t even _begin_ to explain...I just... _wow_ , you really have no respect for law and order at all, do you, Rouge?”

“Hey, I’m letting the police have this one, aren’t I? It’s not like I try to work _against_ them. I’m just in the major leagues and they’re usually corrupt and stupid.” Rena shrugged. “But these guys...ugh, I’m just...so not in the mood for this. I didn’t even _want_ to bust anybody tonight.” She looked up at the abandoned palace roof wistfully. Alya just missed telling Trixx about her good date. Or, uh, _platonic hang out_.

(It was a goddamned date and everyone knew it.)

“I only have one pair of handcuffs. Should I call them, or…”

“Euh, we can make one pair work. Let me see…” Rena looked between the men, her mind still stuck in the past few hours as her desire to be in the street with two criminal scum and Ladybug lessened and lessened. And then, she laughed. “Hey, we’re at The Louvre, right? You boys want to be classy for us?”

“Uh...Rouge?” Ladybug asked, curiously. Her man stood silently, just watching until Rena walked towards him. Jacket started to complain, so Rena rolled her eyes.

“Come on, you’ll be fine. I won’t hurt him, okay?” She waved Ladybug over and began directing. “Put him directly above Hoodie.” Ladybug narrowed her eyes, so Rena groaned. “Oh, my god. Please? I’m pissed off and this is going to be funny. Funny as in ha-ha funny, not ‘look at the disemboweled man’ funny, okay?”

Ladybug looked ready to protest, but instead, she led her man over. But her eyes were still flashing in suspicion.

“Okay, good. Now I lift up Hoodie and- hurgh- okay, bend Jacket down so Hoodie fits in his arms.”

“What the hell are we doing?”

“We’re making art for the Louvre security to find.”

“I don’t have all night, Rouge. I’ve only got four minutes. The cuffs will stay on, but-”

“God, it’s not going to take all night, Ladybug! Just bend him over! Thank you, woy! Okay, I maneuver him -euh- in the arms. Alright, Hoodie, now wrap your arms around his neck...like this…” she began to fuss more with their bodies, legs, and angles. “A little more on your side, bend the knee...stop screaming, you pleunichard![8] It wouldn’t be broken if you weren’t trying to kill a man right outside the fuckin’ Louvre. And...perfect!”

Satisfied, Rena backed up and crossed her arms. Her ears twitched as she admired her hard work- Hoodie laying on the ground, arms wrapped around Jacket’s head, who was trapped by virtue of the weight of the other man and his handcuffed wrists, but trapped at an angle as if he had just landed next to the man and was here to revive him with a kiss. Rena chuckled. “If I had time, I’d get Jacket some wings. Then they’d be just right.”

“Some wings...?” Ladybug asked. She squinted. Then her eyes snapped open. “Oh, my god! It’s Cupid and Psyche!” Ladybug barked out a surprised laugh. “You made...oh, my god! You made Cupid and Psyche! I didn’t think you would even _know_ about that!”

Rena pouted. “I’m not uncultured, Punaise.”

“I didn’t say you were,” Ladybug answered defensively. And as quickly as it came, the moment of civility was gone.

Rena sighed dramatically. The two men struggled and grumbled; security should be walking by any moment now and find her human sculpture. _Marinette_ would have thought it was clever; she was sure. “You should go, Ladybug. I’ll hide and make sure these two get picked up and sent away.”

“You won’t try to make ‘The Raft of the Medusa’ out of the police?”

Rena grinned. Honestly? That was a really funny idea. “Maybe another night. I’d rather go home.”

Ladybug nodded. She did not say goodnight, exactly, but she also didn’t leave in a flurry of angry remarks. Just a zip of her yo-yo and a flip into the dark. Rena leapt easily up the walls until she found a shadow to hide in, waiting and watching the men struggle before Louvre Security _finally_ came around. Without one comment about her clever reenactment, she noted.

Whatever. Marinette would have liked it. She was sure about that.

\--v--

Just outside Place de Vosges, Marinette sat on a bench. She was meeting Alya for dinner on Monday night, exactly seven days after the dinner where they met. And Marinette absolutely had not forgotten what a week after meeting meant for the two of them.

Alya had done everything to make Marinette feel comfortable. She’d invited her to dinner when they left the Louvre three days before, texted over the weekend to make and confirm plans, picked the restaurant, and even offered to pick her up. But this wasn’t a date. Not yet. And so Marinette had insisted they just meet up together.

Unfortunately, that meant she’d spent the better part of the last two hours freaking out to Tikki and her poor roommate. Even now, dressed in her prettiest navy summer dress with her hair down around her neck, on time and out of the house, she was still texting Adrien in a panic.

 _-What if she forgot and I’m expecting her to ask me out and it never happens?_ Marinette texted, asking a question she’d already asked at home.

 _-Like I said, then YOU ask HER out!_ Adrien replied.

_-I don’t know if I have the guts, chaton._

_-Yes you do. You are brave and awesome and have the guts. Just pretend you’re wearing your mask and you can do anything._

Marinette paused. She reread the last text and took a deep breath. He believed in her. And Alya had made it very clear over the past week that she enjoyed spending time with Marinette. - _Do you think I can really do this?_

Adrien’s reply was almost automatic. - _You’re gonna do great!_ The text read, including a picture of Adrien shooting a thumbs up. Marinette smiled, but paused when another picture came in of their empty kitchen table.

 _-What is that supposed to be_? She quickly tapped out, but Adrien was already sending an explanation:

 _-Plagg wanted a picture, too._ Marinette giggled. Plagg was determined to one day be photographed, even if it wasn’t possible. Adrien sent a the same picture again, but this time he had drawn a cat face on top of the empty air. She laughed out loud.

“What’ve you got there?” asked a dark, familiar voice behind her.

“Alya!” Marinette squealed, tossing her phone into the air and flailing miserably. She finally caught her phone, locked it, and stuffed it in her purse, meeting Alya’s amused hazel eyes. “Just texting Adrien while I waited!” she gushed out, grinning madly to try and hide her nerves.

“I didn’t leave you waiting long, did I?”

“No, not at all!” Marinette assured her. She stood up and brushed out her skirt. Now face to face with Alya, she _desperately_ wanted to kiss her. She wanted to know if her lips were soft and if she would moan when kissed. She wanted to know what she would taste like. She wanted to know if Alya wanted those things, too.

And that was terrifying. It had been a week and Marinette was right...she _definitely_ still liked this girl.

“Let’s go before the place closes.” Alya smiled at Marinette and offered her arm, which she eagerly accepted.

“Oh, right, it’s mainly a lunch place, right?” Marinette asked.

“Yes, it’s pretty casual. I thought that way we could treat ourselves to dessert afterwards.” Alya looked at Marinette and smiled, tugging her down the street. Once they were walking, conversation flowed a little more normally, a little more comfortably. They walked down Rue de Turenne, past bicyclists and along the walls of buildings. The sun was still shining on them, lending the two a warm, long, summer night. They past blue storefronts, red storefronts, white storefronts, and finally came to a small, beautiful black doorway with lovely golden script reading ‘Pasta Linea’ above them.

“Here we are!” Alya said. Together, they headed towards the door, but Marinette lurched a little forward when Alya suddenly stopped. Marinette looked back, and at her confusion, Alya smiled softly. “I was texting Nino,” she said.

“Huh?” Marinette met Alya’s eyes, blinking in confusion.

Alya smiled a little nervously...was that nervously? It was hard to tell when Alya was ever nervous, if that ever happened. But she said, “on my train over here from work. I was texting Nino about tonight, too. I saw you freaked out when I caught you texting Adrien and I just…” She looked away and Marinette immediately missed those hazel eyes. But from this angle, she could see how Alya swallowed before looking back. Maybe she _was_ nervous, too. “I was texting Nino. Working up the courage for tonight. Which is dumb, because we’ve talked or texted every day for a week and we’ve hung out three times since last Monday and I feel comfortable and confident around you, and I know I’m a hot badass who shouldn’t get nervous, but…” Alya finally looked back at Marinette and gave her a weak smile. “I really don’t want to mess this up.” Her smile stayed put as Alya inhaled, then that smile disappeared and she exhaled in a groan, running her hands over her face. “Ugh, I sound so lame now. I just didn’t want you to feel like you’re the only one nervous tonight.”

“That isn’t lame!” Marinette said, reaching out to pull Alya’s hands off of her face and into her own hands. “That’s very sweet! I _was_ nervous, and it helps knowing you are, too...you never seem nervous.”

Alya chuckled. She adjusted her hands just slightly so they were holding hands a little more naturally. “Girl, I just have practice keeping my chill.”

Marinette smiled, ducking her head. “I don’t have my chill around you.” She looked up and found a soft look in Alya’s eyes. “Should we go in?”

“Yes,” Alya agreed, finally walking through the door. The restaurant was small, home-like. It looked like an Italian grandmother’s kitchen with beautiful stone walls and wooden cabinets, holding spices and ingredients that to Marinette looked as functional as decorative. There were a few tables and a long counter. This seemed like a very casual place and from glancing around, Marinette got the feeling that most business came from take-out orders. But Alya led her right to a table and waited for service. “Order whatever you’d like. If it gets too close to closing, we can just take the food and finish outside.” Alya shrugged. “It’s great weather, after all.”

Taking Alya’s advice, Marinette ordered herself an appetizing penne. They talked easily while the waiter brought them each their drinks and it didn’t take long for Marinette to feel at home again.

At home. She couldn’t help but smile...that was really what Alya had begun to feel like. Home. They could and did talk about anything. Alya’s sense of humor kept everything light and exciting and she seemed to really admire everything Marinette shared about herself. She wasn’t even halfway through her penne when she realized just how much she hoped tonight was the last night that they were Just Friends.

God, Marinette hoped Alya felt the same way.

Marinette forked a piece of penne, sopping up extra cheese and sauce, then watched Alya. They’d fallen into one of their nice, comfortable silences between topics. In the soft lighting of the small Italian restaurant, Alya looked like a goddess. The light danced in the curls of her hair and illuminated them. She wore the same lipstick from the week before, a color Marinette found herself wondering would rub off if they kissed.

In Alya’s glasses, Marinette could see a flash of her own reflection. Compared to this girl who was new to Paris and already introducing the local to incredible new ways of living and seeing her own city, the girl reflected back felt less impressive. And yet behind those glasses, Alya looked at her like Marinette was the most amazing part of her life.

Marinette couldn’t hold it back anymore. She laughed to herself and shook her head. “Alya, why do you hang out with me? What do you see in me?”

“Why?” Alya raised an eyebrow and smirked at Marinette. “You fishing for compliments, girl?”

“No!” Marinette squeaked, blushing quickly. She didn’t want Alya to think she was conceited, or self-absorbed, or-...Alya laughed. Softly, tenderly, with no hint of mockery.

“I’m teasing, choupette.” Her smile turned soft and tender, lips closing slowly over her teeth, but that smile still extending into her glittering eyes. Eyes Marinette could stare at all night. “You’re creative and smart and obviously gorgeous...but I like your honesty. The way you care about  your friends and family so deeply, the way you talk about your passion...girl, nothing about you is fake. You’re real.”

Marinette looked down at her plate. She loved this praise and attention from Alya, she loved being wanted, but...god, how would Alya take it when she found out Marinette _wasn’t_ real? She fiddled with her fork, scratching the plate a little. Alya liked her for her honesty, but Marinette wasn’t being honest about one of the biggest parts of who she was. How she grew into the person she became. What she did with most of her freetime. “I’m not... _that_ honest. I have a lot of things I don’t tell you.”

“Well, of course you do,” Alya replied easily. Marinette blinked and looked up at her in surprise. Alya popped another ravioli in her mouth as if she’d said nothing important. Once she swallowed, she continued, “Marinette, we just barely met seven days ago. You had an entire _life_ before me, and you have an entire life without me right now, too. We’re both adults. We’ve made choices and done things and lived in ways that we don’t bring up in casual conversation all the time. Probably a few things we’re ashamed of. Girl, I don’t expect you to be a fully-formed perfect human being without any flaws, secrets, or regrets.” She laughed, putting a hand against her chest. “Hell, I’ve got so much baggage that I brought with me to Paris, I would _prefer_ if you understood what it’s like to want to keep a few things to yourself.

“We have twenty-four years of past...it’s not going to all come clean in seven days. To me, honesty is how you live, Marinette. It’s how you treat your conversations, and how you deal with your emotions, and how you present your accomplishments and opinions to other people. It’s living life without illusions- either for others or yourself. It’s _not_ how freely you pass out autobiographies.”

Slowly, Marinette’s smile returned. That made a lot of sense. And that was something she could absolutely live with. “So...you don’t mind if I have some secrets that I don’t feel comfortable sharing yet?”

“Girl, if you felt comfortable sharing everything about your life, good and bad, after knowing me for just a week, you and I would get real bored, real fast. Besides, I know a thing or two about secrets. My secrets could probably beat up your secrets, so I have no place to judge.” She grinned and something in that grin made Marinette giggle. Alya seemed so comfortable and so confident and maybe...maybe this really could work. Maybe she really wouldn’t mind the whole Ladybug situation. After all, being honest with her emotions and her friends? That, Marinette could do. She always did.

So Marinette leaned a little closer over the table and raised her own eyebrow. “Oh, I don’t know. My secrets are pretty buff. They could probably give yours a run for their money.”

“Buff, huh? Do your secrets workout and get a figure like yours?

Marinette giggled again, her face falling into her hands. Between her fingers, she asked, “Are we actually flirting over our shared emotional and social dysfunctions?”

“You started it, Mari!”

Leaning over the table, Marinette tried to make her smirk match the one so comfortable on Alya’s face. “What are you gonna do about that, then?”

Alya poked a ravioli with her fork and promptly popped it into Marinette’s mouth. She laughed at Marinette’s surprise, but Marinette didn’t feel upset at all. She just laughed, then politely shut her mouth to chew and swallow.

“You’re lucky that ravioli is so good!” Marinette said, laughing again.

“It is, isn’t it?” Alya’s eyes were wide and suddenly serious. “I’m really glad my Manman recommended this place.”

“Did you tell her who you were...um...taking to dinner?”

Alya was quiet. Marinette suddenly wasn’t so sure that was the best question. Then she answered, having thought it through. “I told her I was taking a girl I liked, yeah. I’m hoping this goes well and if it does...I’d like to ease my mom into the idea.”

Marinette felt her heart flip a bit at that confession. Alya had told her, of course, _many times_ how much she liked Marinette. But it still felt good. And to hear she was telling other people…? She tried to hide her smile behind penne and then asked, “Is she accepting?”

“Manman? She’s getting there. When I told her I was taking a girl, she asked if I couldn’t find a _nice Parisian boy_ to take out.” Alya rolled her eyes. “But that was all she said about that. My parents have realized that I don’t take shit, and they’re either nice about the girls I like, they shut up, or they get forcibly removed from my life. And now that they’re across the country, it’s even easier for me to give them the cold shoulder if I have to.” She shrugged. “I came out about six years ago. It took awhile for them to get to this point. It’s...it’s a little harder for families like ours, sometimes. But my little sisters are amazing. I think they helped my Manman and Papa come to terms with everything.”

“I’m glad you have your sisters’ support,” Marinette said honestly. “What about your Mami? You’re close to her, too. Right?”

Alya laughed, smiling wide at the thought of her Mami. That smile was contagious. “Oh, yeah. Mami is _really_ cool with everything. She’s my biggest supporter. God, you would love her, Marinette. Mami is amazing. The first time my older sister said something small-minded about me, Mami booked a flight to Marseille just to whoop her ass. And Nora is a professional MMA fighter!” She laughed again, shaking her head. “Mami is feisty.”

“She sounds like you,” Marinette said, sharing a laugh.

Alya’s face lit up and quietly, she said, “I hope so.” She smiled down at her plate. What a beautiful smile. “Nora’s not even that bad. She just...she tries to baby me sometimes. She thinks I’m setting myself up for danger by being out. Thinks it would be safer if I stuck to boys. But I can take care of myself, alright?” Alya waved that away and asked, “But what about your family? How did your parents take it?”

“My parents are very, very supportive,” Marinette said. She laughed. “Sometimes, Maman and Papa are too supportive, actually. Maman’s been trying to set me up with this customer of hers all summer, and it’s not the first time they’ve played match-maker.” She rolled her eyes, but smiled. She knew how lucky she was to have parents like hers. “They’ve always been supportive, too. Papa researched everything he could when I came out. He actually knows more than me about some gender stuff.”

“And _your_ crazy Mami is cool with everything, too?”

“She is,” Marinette agreed with a nod. Then she made a face. “Actually, when I came out, she decided to tell me about all the girls she’s been with since Pépère died.”

“No!” Alya laughed in horror. “She didn’t!”

“Yes, she did!” Marinette countered, slamming her hands on the table, grinning. She started to tell Alya all the stories they’d shared, the two girls laughing louder and louder.

Nearly another half-hour went by until a waiter appeared at their side. It was time to go, so Alya signed the check, they thanked the owner, and left arm-in-arm. They strolled through the Marais as the light faded, taking them from evening to night.

They criss-crossed through streets, going nowhere in particular, but eager to continue the flow of conversation. Their noses carried them into Marinette’s choice of restaurant for dessert, just as so many tables and booths of patrons were settling with their late dinners. With a shared plate of cake between them and a glass of dessert wine each, the girls continued their banter. Marinette leaned in more to Alya’s touches, Alya’s comments grew flirtier, and the soft music set them into a pink bubble of bliss all their own.

Nearly another half-hour went by until Alya’s phone chimed. She looked at it in surprise, nearly jumping in her booth. And then she grinned. And slowly, Alya slid out of her booth. _What was she doing_? Marinette’s eyes were trained on Alya as her friend’s grin spread wider. She slowly lowered herself to kneel on the ground and grabbed one of Marinette’s hands. “Alya,” Marinette asked, looking around and noticing a few patrons in the largely empty restaurant had turned their way. “Alya, what are you doing down there?”

“It’s been exactly seven days,” Alya said quietly. She flashed a wink towards Marinette and her entire body seemed to light on fire. Seven days. Somewhere in the bliss of conversation, Marinette had managed to forget their deal. “And I’m hoping, maybe by now, you’re interested.” Alya smirked up at Marinette, rubbing her hand with a thumb. Oh, she knew. She knew Marinette was interested. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng...will you date me?”

They were words Marinette had imagined. Frankly, she’d imagined words even braver than that. But in a rush of excited delight, Marinette squealed and pulled Alya into her booth. She kept pulling, forgetting her own strength, until she’d pulled Alya up to her face and her other hand captured her around her back, meeting her lips in a kiss that surprised them both.

It was quick. A brush of soft lips and nothing more. So immediately, they were kissing again. Marinette wasn’t sure if it was her or Alya who initiated the second time, but this kiss was softer, slower, and allowed their lips to explore just a bit as Alya pulled herself to a sitting position. Marinette’s heart was stammering and her body was still on fire, slowly filling with a more comfortable, soft warmth. When they separated, she sighed. “Yes, I will,” Marinette said, then stroked Alya with the back of her hand.

A smattering of applause attracted their attention away from each other and Marinette started to blush. “Congratulations,” someone wished them. And Marinette looked over at Alya, giggled flooding from her lips. “I think they think you _proposed!_ ”

Alya laughed, rubbing her nose against Marinette’s shoulder. “Girl, that’s fast, even for me.”

Still. They didn’t turn down the free glasses of champagne someone one table away sent over.

The new girlfriends finished their cake and champagne from the same side of the table, giggling constantly and attempting to eat hand-in-hand. At one point while Marinette wiped frosting off of her cheek, Alya squeezed her knee. “Hey Marinette?” she asked,

“Hmm?”

“Just so you know...whenever you’re ready, whenever that is...I would _love_ to hear your buff, beautiful secrets. You can tell me anything, okay? Anything at all.”

“I feel like I know that already,” Marinette replied, putting her hand over Alya’s. “And Alya?”

“Yeah, doudou?”

“You can tell me anything, too. I would be honored to help carry your baggage one day.”

Alya smiled back and leaned in just a little. Marinette leaned the rest of the way, kissing her until she was giggling too much to keep kissing. Alya stood again, leading Marinette out of the booth and towards the front of the restaurant to pay. Marinette kept her eyes on her girlfriend (her _girlfriend!_ ) all the way out of the restaurant and as they walked under the blanket of dark sky towards the river. Hand-in-hand, with frequent breaks for quick kisses, they walked and walked until Marinette’s phone rang.

She ignored it the first time, but when the buzzing started up again immediately, Marinette paused. She frowned. That was the repetition of an emergency. “One moment, Alya. I need to see who this is…” she pulled her phone out and sighed. _Adrien_.

“You can take it, Marinette. It’s okay,”

Frowning apologetically, Marinette accepted the call. “Ällo?”

“Marinette, we’re needed in the eighth. There’s a fire and it’s spreading.”

“Adrien, can you handle it alone? I’m with Alya, and-”

“No, I can’t. I know, it’s your big night, but I wouldn’t call if I didn’t _absolutely_ need you.”

“Have you tried your other friend?” Marinette glanced at Alya, standing there patiently. Marinette was desperate to stay here and not ruin this. Desperate to not let Ladybug be more important than her girlfriend on their very first evening together.

“I’ve left a lot of voicemails with her kwami, but she’s not responding. I can’t just call her! I need you! Please, Marinette. We’ll take care of it quickly. There are lives in danger!”

Marinette sighed and groaned. She _knew_ there were lives to save. But god, she was getting tired of the interruptions after twelve years. “Fine. I’ll be there.” She hung up as Adrien gushed his appreciation and looked at Alya. Alya, who just wanted to be on a date with her...and who always somehow could read a lie in Marinette’s voice. “Alya, Adrien needs me for an emergency. I’m so, _so_ sorry.”

Trying to hide a frown, Alya leaned in and kissed Marinette’s mouth. “Then I guess I’ll just have to take you out again tomorrow, doudou.”

“You’re not mad?”

Alya shook her head. “Trust me. I _get it_. Just remember this night when I have to run off mid-date some time.” She leaned in and kissed Marinette again. “Now, you and your big buff secrets go help Adrien.” Alya winked and kissed Marinette again, grumbling, “Damn, I can’t stop kissing you.”

Marinette giggled and kissed her back. “I wish you didn’t have to.” She stepped away, positive that if she didn’t, those addictive lips would seem more important than the spreading fire. “I’ll call you when I get home, okay?”

“Give Adrien a hard time for me, would you?”

Dropping Alya’s hands, Marinette nodded. “You know I will!” She waved goodbye and ran off. Marinette was grinning as she ran to hide and transform. Sure, she was disappointed their night was over already, but she was drunk on love. Nothing could knock her down from this high.

Not even when Rena Rouge pushed her off a roof about thirty minutes later.

No- Ladybug’s skin was thick, her indestructible supersuit was thicker, and not even that damn fox could ruin the night she first kissed Alya.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1le goûter: Snacktime, like 5 pm teatime. Usually a glass of orange juice, a cup of tea, a small biscuit or two. The French have late dinner, so le goûter is their one quick bite between lunch and dinner.  
> 2La Jaconde: Mona Lisa. Literally, means "the smiling woman" in antiquated French.  
> 3La Liberté guidant le peuple: "Liberty Guiding the People". Art history nerd moment here- 'Liberty' is represented as a woman, as she typically is in French, especially French Revolutionary, artwork. And this particular story's Alya Cesaire would love nothing more than a badass titties-out woman guiding the French proletariat into revolution and battle.  
> 4collègiennes: Middle school (collège) girls  
> 5nique ta mère: "Fuck your mom". VERY rude. VERY vulgar. Pls don't repeat  
> 6Et toc: Toldja so!  
> 7beuh: Weed. This is verlan, which is a type of city-slang that inverses words. Marijuana first becomes "herb", which inversed becomes "beuh".  
> 8pleunichard: one who whines. Used to complain about someone else, typically...so basically "whiny baby" or "whiny bitch". Except you often use this with kids, too. It's not actually a swear. But it is a GREAT word!!


	7. Simmering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was supposed to be half this length and include scenes from next chapter, but you see....I get trapped when I write domestic fluff because I Love It So Much, so instead, we get a FULL CHAPTER of domestic fluff and joy and silliness.
> 
> But that's because the calm always comes before the storm...and next chapter is going to be a _hellish storm_. Lots of action and emotional turmoil next chapter. And that one will be posted a tad late. I'm shooting for Nov 19 or 20, because I'm going to be out of the country and away from my internet that entire week before.
> 
>  **Content Warning: Sexual references** Fourth section. (Content level is T, not M, but skirts the line to M at the very end.)

\--i--

“You seem happier lately,” Chat Noir mentioned, swigging his bottle of wine.

“It’s because I haven’t had to see La Punaise _aaaaall week_ , since Monday,” Rena Rouge bragged, grinning and flashing her fangs. It had been five days since the fire on the night she started dating Marinette. Five wonderful, _wonderful_ days. She swirled her bottle of rosé and sang out, “I didn’t have to help Ladybug this week!”

“That’s not it,” Chat laughed. “You seem...I don’t know. More confident.”

Rena hummed. She smiled and let her tail flick against the rooftop of their secluded, dark corner of Paris. Really, everything had been going well for her. With two hero articles under her belt, she’d found her footing in her new section at work. She was even getting paid double after La Marseillaise ran one of her Rena Rouge articles featured in Le Parisien. She and Marinette were fitting like a glove as a couple. Sure, it had only been five days so far, but Alya felt more confident in that five day relationship than her last two serious relationships had ever felt. And thanks to her news coverage, a few Parisians were starting to recognize the name ‘Rena Rouge’. “I guess I am more confident,” she finally said. “Everything’s starting to go well for me.”

“You mean as Rena, or as a civilian?”

“Both,” Rena said. She took another swig of wine and looked up at the clouds in the night sky, then back to Chat. He was smiling at her. Rena giggled. “Why are you smiling like that?”

“Because you can’t _stop_ smiling. You’re not normally like this until you’ve had a lot more wine. It’s nice!” Rena tried to stop smiling, just to prove a point. But her stubborn lips wouldn’t cooperate. Finally, she ended up giggling. “You giggle now?” Chat asked, gasping. “That’s weird, Rena. That’s weird. You can’t giggle! Stop it!”

“I’m trying!” She promised, giggling still. Rena took a deep breath and frowned. Serious thoughts. Serious thoughts. Serious...she collapsed next to Chat in an even louder stream of giggles until he joined in. “I can’t stop, chaton!”

It took minutes before they finally calmed down, Chat red in the face from the combination of laughter and wine, Rena gasping for air. But she finally did settle down, just grinning into the night. Chat Noir scooted closer and asked in a low voice, “So, who is it?”

Rena looked back, raising one eyebrow and staring at him, wobbling a bit to the left and right.  “Who is what?”

“Who is making you giggle like that?”

Rena crossed her arms. “I never said it was someone. I was just saying I was happy!”

“You’re giggling. Someone’s making you giggle, aren’t they?” Chat gasped, his ears perking up. “Does my Renardeau have a _cruuuush_?”

Rena pressed a finger to Chat’s forehead, pushing him away from her. “Please, Chat, I’m not a child. I don’t have a crush.” Before she could stop herself, Rena blabbered out, “I have a _girlfriend_.” Maybe she was too proud of the fact to hide it. Maybe she was too drunk. But she only sort of regretted slipping that civilian life fact into her superhero life.

Chat’s tail shot into the air and his eyes lit up. “You do?! You have a girlfriend?! Oh, Rena, that’s awesome! What’s her name?”

“Nope. Not telling you. No chance. No way. Nooooo way.”

Chat rolled onto his back, staring up at Rena with big kitten eyes as his tail flicked between his legs. “Awww, you’re no fun! Come on, Rena! Be a friend! Tell me her name!”

“No way. Secret identities, Monsieur.”

“Please, Renardeau? There’s 2 million people in the city. It won’t spoil it!”

Rena crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow again. “And uh how do you know she even lives in the city, hmm? I could be dating someone long-distance.”

“But you’re not, are you? I bet you kiss _aaaaaall the time_ ,” Chat sang, wiggling his hands in the air, then proceeded to make kissy faces.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Rena shot back, pushing the butt of the wine bottle onto Chat’s kissy lips. She laughed and lifted it up. Chat sat back up, too. “What about you? Are _you_ kissing anyone, chaton?”

“Oh, don’t you go changing the subject on me!” Chat lectured, waving a claw at Rena. “I’m not kissing anyone right now, but I’m not catisfied with the lack of information on your lover. If you won’t tell me her name, what _will_ you tell me about her?”

Rena paused. She looked away and thought about Marinette. _Marinette_ , her girlfriend. Marinette, who almost never lied, but kept her own private truths. Marinette, who baked and danced and sang along to music even when she couldn’t find the key. Marinette, who kissed like it was the first time every time. Marinette, who made Alya feel truly wonderful. “She makes me happy.”

Chat smiled, nudging Rena softly. “Well, hey. That tells me absolutely que dalle[1], _but_ , it’s the most important thing. So good for you, Renardeau. Good for you. I hope she’s quite the vixen.”

Rena chuckled and knocked her wine bottle against Chat’s. They sat in the quiet for a moment, feet dangling and ears flicking in the wind. It was nice. It was quiet. It was friendly. Eventually, something stirred and Rena’s attention darted down below.

Rena gasped, noticing a small figure wandering around below them. “Chat, look!”

He looked down, squinting, and asked, “at the dog?”

“Yes, at the dog! I _love_ dogs!” Rena set down her bottle and leapt off the roof, landing a good two meters from the dog. He stopped sniffing the ground and looked over at her, understandably cautious around the strange fox woman who just fell from the sky. Rena carefully walked over, bending her posture as she went, with both hands exposed to the dog. “Hi, pretty puppy!” she started to coo, watching the dog timidly approach. “Aren’t you a pretty puppy?”

Reddish-brown in color, with long floppy ears, the dog came under the streetlamp and sniffed Rena’s gloves. Slowly, his tail started to wag a little higher until he licked her glove- or at least the wine that had dribbled onto it. Rena giggled. She looked up at Chat Noir, leaning over the roof, and said, “He likes me!”

Rena didn’t wait for Chat to reply. But she did jump down onto her hands and knees, lifting her tail in the air in a play-bow. Her ears wiggled and she grinned at the dog. Surprised, the dog barked once, but then his tail wagged back and he lowered in a matching position. _Now_ Chat was answering. “You’re gonna play with him? Rena, you’re gonna play with the dog?”

“I sure am!” she shouted back, jumping in place and exciting the dog. He barked twice more, jumping around side to side. Rena stood and ran from the dog, now chasing her and barking happily. She bent over and he encircled his paws around her back, at least until Rena wrestled around. He was a pretty big dog; not stronger than her by any means, but big enough to actually play. They rolled on the ground, the dog barking and Rena yipping back, letting the fox side of her really play.

The dog would gently put her hand in his mouth until Rena would push back, nipping an ear and wrestling around. They would back up every now and again, Rena waggling her tail in the air, until the dog would jump off to the side and bark in a playful taunt. She kept playing with him as Chat yelled down at her, “I’m telling your girlfriend you’re biting dogs.”

Rena paused to look up at Chat and shout, “You can’t!” Taking advantage of his still prey, the dog leapt again and knocked her to the ground in loud laughter. Laughing as the dog started to lick all over her face, leaving slobbery trails, Rena shouted again, “You don’t know who she is!” She pushed the dog off and rolled him onto his back, scratching everywhere on his belly she could reach. To the dog, she cooed, “You’re a good dog! You’re a good dog, yes you are! What a good puppy!”

“The day I figure out who she is, I’m telling her you let that dog lick your face, too!”

“Oh, you’re just jealous, Chat Noir,” Rena heckled back up to the roof. Finally, she heard him thump next to them, both bottles of wine in hand. She turned around and smirked over her shoulder m, “But I can’t tell if you’re jealous of my girlfriend or this dog.”

Chat scoffed, crossing his arms. “Are you kitten me? I’m not jealous of either of them!”

“You sure? You don’t want the belly rubs?!” She lifted her hands off the dog long enough to taunt Chat with wiggling fingers but in that moment, the dog stood up and ran to Chat, knocking him flat on his back and licking his face, too. Rena doubled over in laughter, only getting worse at Chat’s shrieks and complaints. She let it go on for another minute before calling to the dog and slapping her thighs. Obediently, he looked up, turned around, and bounded into Rena’s open arms in a dog hug. She scratched his neck and sides, then set him back down and patted his head. “See? You’re getting some action tonight, too.”

Chat stood up with some effort. He wiped off his face and pouted. “Slobbery,” he complained. “Cat kisses are _much_ drier.” Rena snorted in laughter, her mind immediately going to deep, dark places. Chat looked up from his forearm, which he had been rubbing clean. “What?”

Rena waved a hand away, trying not to laugh again. But Chat’s completely wide-eyed, glossy from alcohol, innocent face  just made everything a little funnier. “Rena, what is it?”

“Nothing, I just thought of a joke. But it’s stupid.”

Chat grinned and pounced closer. He waved off the dog, who had thought that was an invitation to play. “Stupid jokes are the best kind. What is it?!”

Should she say? Rena laughed again, grabbing her ear and letting it fling back to place. She shook her head but finally said, “Well, I was just gonna say...if _your_ chatte [2] kisses are dry, you’ve got a problem.” She watched carefully as realization suddenly dawned on Chat’s face and he made a disgusted face.

“Beurk, Rena! That’s so immature!” Rena threw her head back and laughed. Chat continued to scold, “How _old_ are you? For fox sake! I’m telling your girlfriend you have the sense of humor of a collègien!”

“Oh, she knows,” Rena assured him, laughing even harder as she remembered visiting the Louvre with Marinette and all the jokes she’d made about the tiny statue penises since then. “But if your _chatte kisses_ are dry...then that might be why you’re single!”

Chat started waving his hands at Rena, shooing her away with a loud, “Pschitt! Pschitt![3] Go home, you’re drunk!”

Rena laughed and bounced out of the way of Chat’s waving hands. Their bouncing and noises made the dog bark, also jumping excitedly. She stuck out her tongue one last time at Chat before leaping far away onto a roof, the dog barking after her. Rena laughed her entire trip home.

\--ii--

Marinette and Tikki were still awake when Chat Noir stumbled in through their balcony. As usual, he came in face-first, giggling into the carpet and slurring some song. Marinette rolled her eyes and sighed, setting her book down and walking over to her roommate. “Nice of you to finally come home,” she mumbled, kneeling down to lift him up. Marinette liked to try and stay awake the nights Chat went out with Rena Rouge mainly because of this- he was drunk, he was reckless, he had trouble getting to bed. But also because it made her feel pretty good about herself, being _sober_ and _capable_ when she knew that Rena, wherever she was in the city, absolutely wasn’t. At least if her own partner was any indication.

“Hiii, Marinette,” Chat purred, falling into her arms. Then he stood upright, flashed her a grin and a salute, and shut the balcony door behind him.

“Adrien, you really shouldn’t come in through the balcony unless it’s an emergency. You know that!”

“But it’s _flashier_ ,” he said, throwing up jazz-hands for effect and giggling.

“Not if you fall face-first when you come in, Chaton. Come on, let Plagg out. Let’s get you to bed.”

“Whyyyy, Marinette? I’m still on _vacatio_ _n_ ,” Chat pouted. “Just because yours doesn’t start until October doesn’t mean you should punish me.”

“I’m not punishing you, I just- ugh, Adrien, you weigh too much to lean on me like that...Adrien! Thank you. I just know you need to get some rest.” She led him to a chair and walked to the kitchen, filling a glass with water from the sink. “Did you two get something to eat before you came home like this?”

“No, Rena was too busy flirting with a dog,” Chat replied, hands out for his glass.

Marinette huffed out a laugh. “That’s the only lover she’d ever get anyway. A dog.” She handed him the glass and went to the fridge to find a sandwich. “Drop your transformation, please. I’ve got some cheese for Plagg!”

Whether it was Adrien who dropped the transformation or Plagg, it didn’t matter and Marinette wouldn’t find out. Plagg zoomed to Marinette, plucking his cheese out of her hand with just a buzzed “THANKS!”  before he went to join Tikki in front of her game of solitaire.

She handed Adrien the sandwich and sat next to him at the table, knowing if she didn’t babysit him to bed, he might jump out the window again. He’d only done it once. But that was enough to scare her. Adrien grinned and tore into his sandwich while Marinette pulled her book back out. “What did you do tonight?” He asked, swallowing a mouthful. “After the car crash with Chat Noir, I mean.”

“I read,” Marinette answered. Anticipating Adrien’s follow up question, she offered, “Alya got called in tonight to cover something happening downtown, then went to get Saturday night drinks with a coworker. She- oh! She texted me about ten minutes ago...I missed it!” Now all smiles, Marinette pulled her legs against her chest and opened her phone to read the text and reply. _Heeezzzeeeeey doudou. Just got home. Are you asleep already?_

Marinette hummed pleasantly to reply, _I was up reading. About to go to bed. How was your night?_  She settled in to text, almost forgetting about Adrien, when he spoke up. “Hey Ladybug, you would tell me who your girlfriend was if you got one, right?”

Marinette looked up at him and chuckled. “Adrien, you’re drunk. You know who my girlfriend is. You were there when we met!” She stood up and lifted him as well, taking his arm gently. “It’s Alya. Nino’s friend from collège? You know her.”

“I mean hypothetically,” Adrien whined. He followed Marinette’s lead and continued, “If you got a girlfriend, you’d tell me her name, right? As Ladybug? Even if we were still a secret?”

Marinette pushed open his door and flicked on a light. The greys and yellows of the room lit up and the bed seemed to welcome Adrien home. “Oh. That’s what you mean. Um, I’m not sure, Chaton. If I wasn’t even telling you _my_ name, why would I share someone else’s secret?”

“Even if we were friends?” Adrien asked. He climbed between the sheets and Marinette tucked them up to his chin.

“We are friends. We’re best friends. And that’s why I tell you _aaaaall_ about Alya. Even maybe more than you want to know,” she added, bopping his nose.

Adrien crinkled his nose under her touch and giggled. Then sighed. “I’m glad you found her. You really like her, don’t you?”

“I do, Adrien. She’s so supportive and affectionate...she's exciting and brave. I like her a lot.” Marinette handed Adrien another pillow to squeeze.

“I’m glad. I hope Rena is happy like that, too. She’s my friend, too.”

“Adrien, you are far too kind of a person.”

“You’re too judgey, Ladybug. You two would get along if you weren’t fighting all the time.”

“You mean we would get along if we were drunk?” Marinette clarified, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t need to spend more time with Rena to know I don’t like her. I’m grateful for the help she gives Paris. But she can do it away from me. And away from Alya.”

“Oooh, does _Alya_ like Rena?” Adrien asked, opening his eyes in curious delight.

“She writes about her. Apparently, her connections to Rena back in Marseille helped her get this new position at her job. So she’s professionally invested...I just try to avoid the topic,” Marinette explained. “So far, we haven’t had to talk about it and I really don’t want to. But, you know,” she shrugged and rolled her eyes. “Rena is the ‘Fox of Marseille’ and that’s Alya’s home. I probably would have the same problem if I cared about football and the Bleus.”

“Except you don’t have a personal ven...venda...thingy against the Marseille team….OM? Yeah, OM. You don’t want to push them off the roof.”

Marinette chuckled. “Your _friend_ can survive falling off a roof or two. And she deserves it. And hopefully, Alya will get better taste in superheroines. Maybe even eventually start to secretly date one…?”

“Oooh, like you, Ladybug?”

Grinning, Marinette leaned over and mussed Adrien’s hair. “Yes, like me. But coming out as Ladybug to her is probably a year or so down the road...no point planning now.”

“A year … is a long time, My Lady,” Adrien warned in the middle of a yawn.

“I’ve waited 24 years to meet her as Marinette. I don’t mind.” She stood up and put her hands on her hips. “Now, have good dreams, silly kitty.”

“You too, Buginette,” Adrien mumbled. His eyes were already shut.

Marinette smiled at him affectionately before leaving. Even if their relationship had changed, it was still one of partners and one of love. She may have never recovered if Adrien had wanted to stop being her friend. Even nights like this, taking care of his drunk behind after hanging out with unworthy lowlifes, she liked having him around.

She pulled her phone back out, delighted at the sleepy bedtime selfie from Alya waiting for her. Her bedside lamp was on and her curly hair was nestled around her face, framing her sleepy smile. She liked having _her_ around, too.

—iii--

The sun was just coloring the Paris streets as Marinette skipped past the bridges and to T&S boulangerie. She was in much too good of a mood for a typical Monday morning, but she’d spent the entire day before with Alya and was still riding that high.

They had brunch at a little café in Alya’s part of town and Marinette had showed her some of her favorite things in that area. Alya and she hunted down all of the new “raining trees” installed by the city, primarily for Alya’s research for an upcoming article, but also just for the fun of spending the day together. Alya interviewed random people at each tree and somehow, watching her work, Marinette fell even harder. Alya had a way of getting these strangers to open up and smile like no one she knew. But when Alya got the quotes she wanted, she’d turn back to Marinette and flash her an entirely different smile. One that said _you’re the one I want to talk to_.

They kissed in the rain of the magical mechanical trees, they kissed in the heat of the sun, they kissed on Pont des Arts and never once minded the bustling city around them. In the afternoon, they walked through The Tuileries and floated boats in the water. They spent the evening at Marinette’s apartment, a movie playing in the background while Marinette discovered exactly how much she liked making out with her new girlfriend. She swore to make it a habit.

That night, as they started walking to find dinner, they heard sirens. Marinette immediately knew she would need to follow them, but as if the magic of the entire day was working its way with Tikki’s luck, she didn’t need to make an excuse. Alya had squeezed her hand, apologized, and said that she needed to chase the sirens down for an article, and would Marinette mind? Of course Marinette didn’t mind...she had been relieved that she needed no excuse to run off and become Ladybug, and even more relief shone back at her from Alya’s face when Marinette assured her that she didn’t mind at all.

And so the night ended there, on an unimportant cobblestone street with rap music pouring out of a nearby window, but not at all on a bad note. And yes, she fought with Rena Rouge over the best way to handle the drunk driver guilty for the crash that night, but it was still a perfect day.  

With her mind replaying the beautiful day, Marinette swung the boulangerie door open and sang out, “Good morning, my lovely parents!”, ignoring the handful of sleepy patrons already there getting breakfast.

“Marinette!” Tom greeted back. He set down his profiteroles and rushed to Marinette, hands out to hold her face and place a big kiss on her forehead. “Good morning, mon poussin! Look at you!” He turned his head over his shoulder. “Sabine! Look at our daughter! She shines like a woman in love.”

“Oh, Papa, it’s only been a week,” Marinette argued. But her heart argued back when it flip flopped at the mere accusation.

“Marinette!” Sabine sang out. “It’s only 5 to 7! What are you doing awake, mon cœur? Manon, watch the register, would you?” She left the counter and greeted her daughter.

“I wanted to get to work early today!” Marinette explained.

“Since when do _you_ like getting to work _early_?” Tom asked, chuckling heartily.

“It’s Alya’s influence,” Marinette gushed. “She is such a hard worker, Maman. Papa, she gets to work at 4:30 in the morning most days! Most people don’t get to her office until 7 or 8 and she’s already been hard at work for hours!”

Tom pouted. “I’ve been going to work at 4:30 every morning your entire life, Marinette. How come I was never that influence on you?”

Sabine laughed and ribbed her husband. “Because you’re not Marinette’s cute new girlfriend, mon gros.”

“I guess,” he sighed dramatically. “I’ve got baguettes in the oven. Marinette, feel free to stop by any morning.” Be pressed a kiss to Marinette’s cheek, then one to Sabine’s lips, and walked off. But before he left, the girls overheard him say to Manon, “ _You_ know I’m a hard worker, right? I wake up early, too!”

Marinette and Sabine laughed. They got themselves cups of café du lait and croissants to dip, then found a table. Sabine glanced at a clock, smiled to herself, and looked back at Marinette. “You _do_ look incredibly happy. Your Papa was right. So your first week as girlfriends went well?”

“So well, Maman. She is so funny! And she is so supportive! She doesn’t know a thing about fashion, but she tries really hard to listen and sends me all the articles in the fashion section of their paper. And she gets along really, really well with Adrien. You know that’s important to me. And she tells me to go to bed on time, and she cooks so well, Maman. And she-“

The bell over the door jingled and out of habit, Marinette glanced back while talking, then back to her mom. “And she always calls when she can’t-” Wait. Was that…? Marinette froze, frowned slightly and turned around again. She looked at the beautiful woman with unmistakable hair who had just got in line. Was that-

“Alya!” Sabine yelled out, smiling and waving. Alya turned from her spot in line, already smiling at the sound of Sabine’s voice, but her eyes went as wide as disks when she saw Marinette was sitting next to her. Alya looked absolutely beautiful, in a well-fitting pair of gray striped capris and an orange shirt that...wow, that _really_ accentuated her chest.

Alya abandoned her place in line, walking over to them both in a daze, eyes flashing between the two women. “Marinette?” She finally laughed out, just next to the table.

Sabine grinned, wickedly gushing. “I see you’ve met my daughter that I’ve told you _all about.”_

Alya snapped to Sabine, her hand brushing past the birthmark on her forehead and into her hair, surprise painted on her face. She laughed once again, saying, “Your daughter is _Marinette?”_

Marinette looked between Alya and her mom, then her mom glanced quickly at Marinette before saying to Alya, “Should I get you your regular? Café serré and ice cream?” She looked pointedly at Marinette, smirking.

And now it was Marinette’s turn to bug out. “Wait, _Alya_ is _ice cream girl?!_ And you didn’t tell me? Maman!!”

“Madame, you were trying to set me up with Marinette this whole time?” Alya asked, looking between Marinette and Sabine. Marinette was clearly just as shocked.

Sabine just laughed. “Yes!” She reached over and grabbed Marinette’s hand, saying, “Et toc, I told you I know your taste, Marinette.”

“But Maman, why didn’t you tell me it was my _girlfriend?”_

“Well, she wasn’t at first, obviously,” Sabine explained innocently, dipping her croissant. “Besides, I knew this would happen eventually, and I thought it would be funny. And it was!”

Alya threw her head back and laughed. “Madame Sabine, you are evil and hilarious!”

“And happy.  Couldn’t be happier. What mother gets the chance to hear her daughter’s girlfriend gush about her for two weeks with no idea who she’s talking to?”

Marinette looked up at Alya. They’d been courting and dating long enough for her to tell when she was embarrassed and Alya had That Face. Oh, she tried to hide it behind all of her sass and swagger, but even Alya was no match for the teasing of Sabine Cheng. She tried to hide her embarrassment with another laugh and said, “I would have said all those true things even if I’d known, Madame.”

“What was it you said Friday morning, Alya? That Marinette was the best thing to happen to you in years?”

Now Marinette was blushing, her smile pushing up her warm cheeks. And Alya just bent down and kissed those blushing cheeks, muttering, “It’s true.”

Marinette giggled. She took her hand to hold Alya’s face, turning her own so they could kiss mouth to mouth. Just chastely, though.

Still, Sabine hit Marinette lightly with a napkin, chastising, “Oh, don’t get too carried away, now. All three of us have work to get to. Didn’t you want to be early today, Marinette?”

“You’re right, Maman,” Marinette complained. But she stayed seated. Her eyes stayed glued on Alya’s.

Sabine chuckled and stood up. “Here, Alya. You sit down and I’ll get you your breakfast. Just don’t be late to work because you’re busy taking Marinette’s breath away.” She backed away, gesturing to the chair.

“If you absolutely insist, Madame,” Alya replied. She sat down and grinned, winking at Marinette. Sabine walked back to the front, but not without loudly humming ‘La Vie en Rose’[4] as she went. Alya laughed again, shaking her head as she reached out to hold Marinette’s hand. “Your parents own my boulangerie! That’s crazy!”

“Of all the boulangeries in Paris,” Marinette commented, shaking her head and laughing too. “At least we know my parents already approve of you.”

Exhaling, Alya nodded. “That is a huge burden off my shoulders, girl. You don’t even know how relieved I am.”

“That my parents approve of you?”

“Well, of course. But your mom has been trying to set me up since the second week I started coming here...I was really worried she was going to be mad I had a girlfriend and cut off my coffee supply!”

Sabine reappeared above them, chuckling as she overheard Alya’s comment. She set Alya’s two cups of coffee, croissant, and ice cream on the table. With an nectarine. “Not mad, Mademoiselle. But I am going to start insisting you take a fruit with your breakfast.” She winked at them both and disappeared again, leaving the two adult women giggling like teenagers.

Marinette swirled her croissant around in her coffee and glanced up at Alya. “You know, I actually was going to text you. Do you want to make dinner with me again tonight?”

“At your place?”

Marinette laughed. “Alya, you know I love a lot of things about you, but your kitchen is not one of them. Yes, at my place. Adrien is going out with Nino and some of their friends tonight.”

“Then girl, you know I’m down to come over.” Alya grinned. “Anything in mind?”

Oh, how Marinette had something in mind. She started to blush, replaying their makeout session from the night before. How Alya’s weight felt resting on top of Marinette, how her hair felt between Marinette’s fingers, how her tongue tasted, how low and guttural her moans had been, if maybe she could push it just a little farther tonight and get under her shirt… “Maybe we try watching that movie again,” she hinted.

Alya snorted in laughter. She leaned over to bop Marinette’s nose and said, “I meant for dinner. Although if you want me to just put _you_ on the menu…”

Marinette’s face caught on fire and she started to giggle almost uncontrollably. _Pull it together, Marinette_ , she chastised herself. _Say something smart! Say something flirty and clever!_ Finally, she managed to say, “Only if seddert is you,” and flash what she hoped was a sexy smile.

Alya smiled so soft and so lovingly, it didn’t quite fit with what Marinette was trying to get across. But it was still a welcome expression. She leaned over to the side and kissed Marinette softly. “You are so fucking cute, doudou. I was planning on making Poulet àla Moutarde[6] tonight...I’ll text you the ingredients and we can see if we need to pick anything up.”

After leaning forward for another kiss, Marinette smiled and nodded. “Why don’t you go ahead and send me any ingredients for the week? So we can shop efficiently?”

Alya raised an eyebrow and smirked back at Marinette. “Why, Mlle Dupain-Cheng, making a list for the whole week? How very forward of you!”

Flustered, Marinette blushed again. “I just thought we well as might...it just makes sense if…”

Alya chuckled and silenced her with a soft, gentle kiss. Then looking above Marinette’s head, noticed the time and gasped. “Oh, merde, I didn’t schedule in time to flirt and I’m gonna be late if I don’t leave right now. I have to talk with Lorraine about this new lead I have at eight.” Alya stuffed her ice cream in a bag with the last half of her croissant and uneaten nectarine and slammed a to-go lid on the café du lait. She chugged the rest of her café serré with a grimace and kissed Marinette again, tasting like roasted coffee and butter. “I’ll see you after work, girl!”

Marinette stood to see her girlfriend off, shouting back, “Have a good day! Bye, Alya!” She was smiling as she watched Alya disappear out the door and down the street. Marinette crashed back into her chair with a giant sigh. She sat in her chair, dreamily replaying their first breakfast together, until her coffee went cold.

\--iv--

Ten hours later, Marinette dropped her purse off on the hook hanging by the apartment entrance. She was still smiling, as she had been for almost the entire day. Ten hours was much too long to go without seeing Alya, so Marinette was delighted their time apart was almost over. “I’m home!” Marinette called out. Tikki flew out of her jacket and zoomed through the air, getting much needed fresh air. Marinette looked over at the kitchen, noticing that there was chicken sitting in the sink, and smiled. “Thank you for defrosting the chicken, Adrien!” she called. Her roommate had started to leave his room from her initial shout, dressed in a nice vest and gray shirt, Plagg riding on his shoulder.

“No problem, Marinette. I am always happy to be your wingman.” He reached the kitchen, leaning on the counter to look at Marinette while Plagg jumped off his shoulder and flew right into the arms of Tikki for a spinning hug.

Once Plagg was done greeting his companion, he hovered a bit farther away and started to chuckle. “Tell her how else you’re her wingman, Adrien!”

Tikki and Marinette shared a nervous look. “Adrien…” Marinette started, caution dripping in her voice. “What did you do?”

Adrien grinned mischievously. Then changed his expression to the fakest innocent look he could muster. “I had to stop by Passage du Désir, so I picked up some dental dams for you.”

“Adrien!” Marinette shrieked, pulling her sandal off her foot and tossing it at Adrien. He laughed and ducked, missing it easily. “You’re terrible!”

“Hey, I’m just trying to keep you safe and healthy, My Lady!”

Tikki giggled. “It’s good to be safe, Marinette! We do want you to stay clean.”

“I’m not doing that with her tonight, you guys!” Marinette argued, crossing her arms defensively.

Adrien chanced moving closer, leaning back on the counter again. “Aw, but I’m sure you want to eventually, right? I mean, we’ve all seen the way you look at her. Nobody believes you two actually watched _Manon des Sources_ twice yesterday. Who watches that one without the first one anyway?”

Flushing red, Marinette busied herself with pulling the bags of defrosted chicken out the water and prepping everything for Alya’s arrival. “Eventually, I’d like to get there, yes,” she muttered. “She’s a very attractive woman and I haven’t had any of that since…” She paused and looked up at the ceiling. God, it was bad when she couldn’t remember the last time she’d gotten any. “Well. Too long. And I _really_ like Alya.”

In chorus, the three of them replied, “We know.” Then Adrien added, “So my gift will be useful after all, then! They have a pretty good shelf-life. I don’t think it’s going to take you guys five years to have sex.”

“Oh my god, I hope not,” Marinette groaned.

Tikki fluttered closer to Marinette, giggling, “Especially not if you get your goal tonight, Marinette!”

“Ooh, a goal? What’s your goal, Buginette?”

Marinette’s face went bright red. She wished her hands weren’t covered in chicken slime, or she would cover her face. “You don’t want to know, Adrien! That’s weird!”

“Aw, come on. You can tell me! I bought you dental dams. You and I are on that level, Marinette.”

“I did not ask you to buy those for me, matau,” Marinette replied, wagging a finger at him. But Adrien’s face was one of a man who would not give up. So Marinette sighed, washed out the bags, and muttered, “I want to touch her chest today. Under the shirt.”

Approvingly, Adrien nodded. “Alya does have _incredible_ boobs. That is a wonderful goal, Marinette.”

Plagg spoke up from his spot hovering next to Tikki, “He means he would have done that days ago already.”

“Oh, shut up, Plagg!” Adrien complained, waving a hand at his kwami. “If you change your mind about using those dental dams, just remember to shut your door first, Marinette.”

“You stop teasing me, chaton. You’re the one going out tonight to try and seduce Nino away from his loving wife!”

Adrien’s grip slipped off of the counter and he immediately tried to stand straighter, pushing his hair back. “I am not, Marinette!”

“Mmhmm,” she hummed in disbelief. “That’s why you’re wearing your expensive cologne to boys’ night, right?”

“I would never try and break up Nino and Kiki. He’s so happy,” Adrien disagreed.

Plagg started to laugh in mid-air, attracting everyone’s attention. But in a move very uncharacteristic of himself, Plagg didn’t explain his laugh.

Finally, Tikki spoke for herself and Marinette. “Well, Plagg? Are you going to share with the rest of us?”

“Naw. Not unless Adrien is cool with it.”

Groaning, Adrien leaned back and looked up at their can lights. “Fine, Plagg. You wouldn’t be able to hold it in much longer than tonight anyway.”

“Oh, goody!” Plagg cheered. He laughed again, then announced, “Adrien doesn’t have to break them up. He was researching _polyamory_ today,” A grin spread wide across his little black face.

Tikki looked absolutely delighted at that news. Marinette choked on air and looked at Adrien with wide eyes, but Adrien just avoided everyone’s looks by staring at his phone. Tikki was the first to speak, cooing, “Ooh, that would be wonderful for you, Adrien! Is that why you went to the store? To look for a book? I have _lots_ of past holders who have been polyamorous! We should talk!”

“Hey,” Plagg growled, crossing his arms. “I have, too! He could talk to _me_ , Tikki!”

Tikki buzzed over to Plagg and softly laid a kiss to Plagg’s head. “Oh, Plagg. You and Adrien are very close, so he might, you’re right. But I think I might have the upperhand in hosting encouraging conversations for something so new and foreign to him, especially when it comes to romance.”

“Are you looking into that, Adrien? Really?” Marinette asked.

“Just research. Don’t make a big deal out of it, Bug. I really don’t feel like talking about it yet. Plagg is just a big loud-mouth, and I figured…” he shrugged, “while I’m researching, it doesn’t hurt for my best friend to know.”

Plagg spun on Adrien. “A loud-mouth? It’s your own fault for researching while I was in the room! I get curious!”

Marinette interrupted Plagg and said encouragingly, “Well, I support you, as long as you don’t break up the Lahiffes. They’re very sweet.”

“Trust me, I won’t,” Adrien promised. “Don’t...don’t spread it around to our friends yet, okay? Now, I need to get going. Nathanaël is already there and you know how much he hates being the first guy somewhere.” He walked over to Marinette who, in habit, stuck her cheek out for a quick cheek-to-cheek bisou. “Good luck touching those nénés[6] tonight, Mari! Plagg, let’s go!”

“Good luck touching whatever you’re hoping to touch tonight too, minou!” Marinette called back.

Adrien opened the door and Marinette heard him make a noise I’m happy surprise. When he called our, “Oh, cou-cou, Alya!” Marinette yelped and jumped in place. Tikki squealed and zoomed to hide among the kitchen cabinet decor. “How did you get here so fast from your office?”

Marinette could hear Alya, but couldn’t see her yet as she answered, “because I’m awesome.” When Alya came into view, leaning forward to give Adrien a quick bisou and high-five, her heart picked up its pace considerably. She wore the same beautiful outfit from their breakfast, but her hair looked a little more exhausted than it had hours ago. It may have just been Marinette’s imagination, but the shirt looked to be even lower-cut, like Alya had pulled it down a little on her way over. Which, honestly, Marinette didn’t mind. It warmed Marinette’s heart to recognize those subtle differences and know she’d seen her just that morning. “You’re looking good tonight, Agreste!”

“You too, Alya. Don’t have too much fun tonight, alright?” Adrien leaned backwards into the apartment, waving to Marinette one last time. “Goodnight, ladies.”

Alya swept in as Adrien waltzed out to a chorus of replies. Alya looked as happy to see Marinette as Marinette felt to see her girlfriend and she rushed over, mustard and two cloth bags full of requested groceries still in hand, for a big kiss. “Rebonjour[7], ma choupette,” Alya said.

“Rebonjour, ma Jolie,” Marinette replied. “The chicken is ready to go, so we can have an early dinner if we start now! You said it takes about two hours to cook, right?”

“It’s faster if we work efficiently. With you in the kitchen to distract me? I think two hours is about right.” Alya laughed and poked Marinette in the side, making them both giggle. “I’m not sure where you want these,” Alya admitted, handing the bags to Marinette.

The two flitted around the kitchen, working in sync putting groceries away and pulling ingredients and supplies out. Alya made a few comments on the low quality of Marinette’s best Dutch oven pot, but besides that, they had the kitchen prepped and put together in no time. Alya pulled out her hand-written recipe, scrawled with notes and additions, and laid it on the counter between all the ingredients. She pulled her hair all the way back up into a ponytail and washed her hands and started grabbing chicken and mustard. “Would you melt the butter in the pot over medium-high?”

“On it!” Marinette sang back. She slipped an apron on and started the process, stirring butter to generously coat the entire pot in a frothing, beautiful liquid. When that was done, she stepped back to let Alya brown the chicken. Marinette picked up the plate covered in residual mustard and washed it while telling Alya all about her day. “We’ve been swamped with final touches for our September ads. I have a lot of coats and accessories being featured, but that means I’m being asked to be in about seven different places at all times.”

“That sounds like a good problem to have,” Alya commented. She stood back farther from the chicken, letting it sizzle and cook and brown in the mustard. “Everybody wants you.”

“It’s a great problem to have! Last year I only had one piece in an ad for all of September. It was a great ad and a huge opportunity, but obviously, more exposure is better for me. And it means that the ad designers at Acharné are really starting to notice my work, which means I’m more likely to be considered for Fashion Week. Even just one good season, especially the _Fall_ season, could get me where I need to be from here.”

Alya flipped the chicken (her hips popped when she flipped each one) and smiled. “I believe in you. Girl, you are so talented and creative and hardworking. This is your year. You’re going to have pieces in Fashion Week and the world will know what I know,” she looked over her shoulder, adding, “That you are the most talented, amazing fashion designer in the world.”

“You don’t know enough to make judgements like that, Alya,” Marinette laughed. “I’ll die of happiness if I can just get _one_ piece in Acharné’s participation in Fashion Week. But first, I have to survive until these magazines go to press. I’ve been all around the city, checking with graphic designers and getting files from photographers, working with ad designers and constantly checking back at the Acharné building… I mean, it’s 2018. Can we not just use digital meetings to check on the layouts?”

“Oh, admit it. You like it better when you can check on your ads in person.”

“You’re right,” Marinette laughed, “I do. But god, I really could have used a motobike to get around today. This was insane.”

“You would be so cute on a motobike!” Alya gushed, spinning around to grin at Marinette. They continued to talk about Marinette’s work, Marinette giving as much detail as she could about the upcoming advertisements, Alya listening attentively.

Alya worked easily in the kitchen, wiggling and dancing as she worked. She seemed to know just when to pull the chicken out of the pan, move it to a plate, and poured crispy onions in for a quick sauté. Marinette worked as her sous-chef, handing her white wine and chicken stock when Alya called for it, cleaning up as they went, and fetching her kitchen twine to tie a bundle of spices. Their conversation shifted from work to movies, chattering about what they’d seen on Netflix and what they both wanted to see.

Somehow, unlike a lot of her past relationships, Alya didn’t seem astronomically farther ahead in her media consumption than Marinette. She knew most of her own free-time went to being Ladybug, but that left her with not a lot of time to watch television or try new hobbies. And yet Alya, the outgoing, adventurous, fun-loving girl she was, seemed just as behind. It made conversations seem a lot less unbalanced.

While the girls leaned against the counter, just next to the bubbling pot and the changing smell of alcohol,  loud buzzing cut off Alya’s mid-sentence. Alya pulled her phone out of her pocket while she walked to grab the creme fraîche. Curiously, she looked at her phone and announced, “It’s my little sister. Do you mind if I take this?”

Marinette smiled and shook her head. “No, of course!” Still, she stayed comfortably on the other side of the island, out of view. From what she’d heard, Marinette wouldn’t mind meeting Alya’s little sisters. But she wasn’t ready to prove to the rest of the family that she was worth something.

“Alright. Stir in the creme fraiche please? Then reduce the heat to medium-low so you can add the chicken and the spices I tied.” She handed the little container to Marinette, waltzing around to swap places with each other. Alya picked up the video call and grinned at her screen. That damn contagious grin. Marinette was smiling herself, watching Alya look down at her phone while she stirred the spoon around the pot, white liquid brightening the colors of the sauce in beautiful blooming swirls. She gently lowered the chicken and its juices back into the pot and set the lid firmly on top. “Ella! Etta! My little demon sisters! Sa ka fèt[8], girls?”

“We’re great, Alya!” One voice replied. Then a second, “Yeah, great! Check out my new dress I bought today!”

Marinette fought her curiosity and just watched Alya interact with them. She ooh’d and aww’d over her sisters’ clothes and their stories about their days. She laughed teasingly at Ella’s insistence that Etta had a boyfriend and cajoled along with them both, sometimes slipping into Créole as they chattered. Alya looked so loving, so gentle. She would occasionally look up and make eye contact with Marinette, a sweet glance, then back to entertaining the teenagers across the other side of France.

Eventually, one of them said something that Marinette couldn’t pretend to ignore. “Where are you, Alya? This doesn’t look like your ghetto apartment. This place looks nice.”

“Yeah, you can’t afford this kitchen. Where are you?” She gasped, and conspiratorially added, “Are you at your _giiiirlfriend’s house?_ ”

Alya rolled her eyes. “Yes, in fact, I am.” That set her two sisters off on a wild series of giggles. Alya looked over the phone at Marinette and smirked, then winked. That made Marinette giggle a little, too. “We’re making dinner together.”

“Is she there?” One sister asked. “Yeah, can we see her?” The other asked.

Alya sucked in a breath between her teeth. “I don’t know, girls. I don’t know if Marinette wants to meet such weirdos.”

That absolutely set them off. A chorus of “can we please?!”, “we promise we’ll be nice”, and “come on, Alya!” rang out loudly from the phone. But Alya wasn’t even looking at them and her hand was securely over the speaker portion. “Do you want to?” She asked Marinette. “You don’t have to. Obviously.”

“It’s just the twins?” Marinette asked, a little cautiously even as she made her way over.

“Yeah, just the two dorks.”

“Alright,” Marinette agreed with a laugh. She stepped closer to Alya, who angled the phone away from them so she could give her a quick peck. There may have been a chance Marinette was blushing just slightly when Alya pointed the phone back to them. “Cou-cou, girls!”

The girls both squealed. They both looked a lot like Alya must have when she was younger, except that neither had glasses. The girl on the left wore her dark brown hair long and straight, but her sister had short, wavy hair that looked a little more like Alya’s. Alya pointed to the left twin first, saying, “This is Etta,” then pointed to the right, “and this is Ella. Girls, this is Marinette, my girlfriend.” She finished by squeezing Marinette closer to her side.

“Bonjour, Marinette!” Etta said, while Ella cooed out, “Oh, Alya, she’s so _pretty_!”

Etta laughed. “Yeah, Alya, how did you manage to get such a pretty girlfriend?”

Alya raised an eyebrow at the phone. “Hey, girls. Your big sister has game, alright?”

Ella scooted closer. “Marinette, Alya said you’re roommates with a male model. Is that true? Is he there? Can we see him??”

Marinette laughed and shook her head. “He isn’t here, he isn’t a model anymore, and he is _way_ too old for you both. Aren’t you two in lycée?”

Ella pouted. “We’re old enough to look!”

“Well, he still isn’t here. Adrien’s with our friends. It’s just Alya and me tonight.”

In perfect sync, both girls screeched out, “Oooh, trop coquine[9]!”

“Yeah, okay, it’s very exciting,” Alya said sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

“Hey, Alya, did you know we have a new hero in Marseille?” Etta chirped, changing the subject on a dime.

Suddenly, Marinette and Alya were both very interested. “Oh, really? Another miraculous hero? Who is it?” Alya asked. Marinette looked between her girlfriend and the phone, eager for information. She glanced up above the cabinets and caught the eye of Tikki, who had also crawled closer to listen in.

Etta nodded. She said, “He calls himself ‘Lana Nera’ and that’s-”

“That’s Italian for ‘Black Wool’,” Ella interrupted

“Lana Nera, Black Wool,” Alya repeated. “So he’s a sheep?”

“He’s _so handsome_ ,” Ella gushed, grabbing her necklace and sighing dramatically. “He has these big huge horns-”

“-Manman says they look like devil horns-”

“-and his suit has a big, wool fluffy thing around his neck. He’s got a pointy beard-”

“-Manman says that looks like the devil’s, too-”

“-and his suit is grey and white and his eyes are _rectangular!”_

Marinette’s eyebrows shot under her fringe. “His eyes are rectangular?”

“His pupils are!” Ella exclaimed, sitting up excitedly.

Marinette was also leaning in closer. Had Tikki mentioned a sheep miraculous? Had Master Fu? “What’s his weapon?”

Etta answered this one, grinning wide. “A _grappling hook_. Like on the Legend of Zelda. He wears it around his waist when he’s not using it.”

Marinette nodded. She was trying to piece together a mental picture of this hero. Maybe she could see if he had any google results yet, too. Could they contact him? Somehow? “And his power?” Marinette asked.

“That’s the best part,” Ella claimed. She leaned in and said, “He can _duplicate himself_.”

“Oh, like into a herd of sheep!” Marinette laughed. “That’s very clever!”

Alya looked over at Marinette, grinning. She turned back to the phone and said, “And how’s he doing? Is he actually getting good work done? Saving people? Keeping Marseille safe?”

“Well, of course,” Etta said. “But I miss Rena Rouge.” Marinette froze at the familiar name. “I think your article was right, Alya...I think she really did move to Paris.” She fell backwards in her seat, pouting and crossing her arms. “It’s stupid. Paris already had two superheroes. Then they took my big sister _and_ the best hero in the whole world?” Marinette was tense from just hearing Rena Rouge’s name, but now felt her shoulders rise uncomfortably and her jaw set. The best hero in the whole world, really? Etta continued, “They already had two. I want Rena Rouge and Lana Nera to fight together.”

“I bet that would be really cool,” Alya agreed, “but Rena probably had some reason to move to Paris.”

“Are you gonna ask her?” Ella asked, leaning in.

“You know she doesn’t give interviews, girls!”

“Not in _Marseille_ she didn’t,” Ella agreed, rolling her eyes dramatically, “But maybe she’ll be different in Paris around all those famous superheroes.”

“Yeah, aren’t Ladybug and Chat Noir like celebrities there? And if Rena Rouge was gonna talk to anyone, it’d be you.”

That made Marinette more than a little uncomfortable. She knew that Alya wrote articles about Rena Rouge in both cities, but the idea that she might be her ‘go-to’ confidant? That someone as inhumane and despicable, as violent and irresponsible as _Rena Rouge_ would want to be friendly with the funny, loving, exciting, happy girlfriend standing hip to hip with Marinette? God, she  wanted to keep Alya as far from Rena Rouge as possible. Thankfully, the idea also appeared to make Alya look a little uncomfortable. She answered, “That’s flattering, but I don’t think that’s going to be happening any time soon, girls.”

“Have you seen her a lot, Alya?” Etta asked, “Besides your articles, I mean? Like how we used to see her jumping around the neighborhood?”

Alya looked over at Marinette, then back at the phone. “Euh, not as much. She stays pretty hidden, you know? I see Ladybug and Chat Noir a lot more.”

She did? Marinette looked at Alya, curiously. “When do you see Ladybug?” She would have remembered seeing Alya!

“Oh, euh...around? You know, when they...do...presentations and things.” She shrugged. “And when I need to write articles about something they’ve done.”

Well, that made sense. Marinette smiled to herself. She would have to keep a better eye out for Alya. Not that Ladybug could interact with her, or show any favoritism at all, but...it would be nice.

And maybe she could show just a _little_ bit of favoritism to someone in the press.

Ella announced in the middle of the moment of silence, “We saw Lana Nera in the Calanques the other day when we went swimming!”

“In the _Calanques?!_ But what was he doing there?”

“Saving some kid from drowning. It should have been me.”

“You wanted to be the one drowning?” Etta snickered. “I could drown you next time so Satan Sheep can save you.”

“He’s not Satanic, _Etta_ ,” Ella sneered back. “He’s young and handsome. Alya, he’s a _lot_ younger than Rena Rouge was. I think he’s our age.”

Alya chuckled, shaking her head. “Zut, Ella, you have a crush on Lana Nera, don’t you? You want big sheep boy to come save you so he can take you out on a date?”

She pouted, crossing her arms. “You had a crush on Ladybug!”

Marinette’s heart tripped over its own beat. She straightened up  in Alya’s arms and turned to look at her. “You _do_?!”

“Did,” Alya immediately corrected, eyes wide. “Not anymore, dou-dou.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t mind,” Marinette promised, feeling herself blush and trying to will it away. “I wouldn’t mind if you had a little crush on Ladybug.”

“I mean, she’s hot, but I do not like her the way I did when I was their age,” Alya said, shaking her head meaningfully. And some part of Marinette was actually a little hurt at how insistent Alya was. “I had a silly collègienne crush on her, but I got over it real fast.”

Etta laughed. “You looooved her, Alya. Even your boyfriend knew it.”

Marinette looked back at the phone, the two teenage girls giggling and making kissy faces. “I really don’t mind,” Marinette repeated, looking from the girls to her girlfriend. “If you think she’s hot, that’s okay with me.”

“She’s hot, but that’s the only thing likable about her,” Alya said. Marinette tried to ignore the pain that caused. Alya was probably just trying to make Marinette confident in their relationship, right? ...Right? Alya shook her head and continued, “Trust me, girl, you do not need to worry about that punaise getting in between our relationship.”

 _Punaise_...Just that word gave Marinette uncomfortable chills. “Even if Ladybug asked?”

“Even if she _begged_ ,” Alya added, her voice growling a little. And as her eyes scanned over Marinette, they seemed to darken a little. She glanced at the phone and announced, “We can’t stay on the phone long, girls. Marinette and I have to finish our poulet à la moutarde.”

“You just want to hang up so you can kiss your girlfriend, Alya!” Etta accused.

Alya tapped her chin as if thinking about it, nodding and raising her eyebrows. She looked at Marinette and said, “Hmm, that actually sounds like a good idea, too. Don’t you think?”

“Oh, yes,” Marinette agreed. “Maybe we could start right now.”

The girls squealed in disgust. Dramatically, Alya pulled Marinette flush against her body and rationally, Marinette knew this was a joke. But the way their hips crashed together and her chest pushed against Marinette’s, the rest of her body didn’t catch the memo. She was only sort of acting when she tangled a hand into Alya’s hair and pulled her in for a sloppy, open-mouth kiss.

The screaming got louder from the phone, Ella screaming, “Turn it off! Turn it off!” until the line went dead. Immediately, Alya and Marinette separated to laugh.

“Your little sisters are very cute,” Marinette said, sliding her other hand up and over Alya’s shoulder.

“Yeah, they get all their cute traits from me. All the annoying traits come from Nora.”

Marinette threw her head back and laughed. “Oh, is that how genetics work?”

“Yes, of course! You wouldn’t know, being an only child and all. It’s very special genetics.”

“Ooh, I see. I’m so glad I have you to teach me,” Marinette said, a playful smile on her face. “I always wanted a sister. Manon, the girl I used to babysit, was the closest I ever got. My parents basically adopted Adrien after everything went down with his dad, but that absolutely doesn’t count.” She smiled thoughtfully. “You’re really good with them.” She’d probably be really good with her own children, too. But Marinette wouldn’t say that out loud.

“I try to be. I love them, you know?” Alya glanced at the stove where the chicken bubbled and cooked in its sauce, the timer above it still showing plenty of time. “Hey, we’ve got a good twenty minutes before dinner is done. Why don’t we make good on that idea Etta gave us?” Her eyes were twinkling, glancing down to Marinette’s lips even as Alya licked her own. The expression made Marinette’s body pound and her own eyes dropped first to Alya’s lips, then to the cleavage pressed against her, and her lower half pounded even louder. “I think that’s a great idea,” she croaked.

Alya chuckled. She looped a finger under Marinette’s chin and lifted her face up for another kiss. But it was too fast, and when Alya pulled away, Marinette was chasing after her with her own mouth. “I notice you’ve been looking at my chest a lot today.”

Flushing red, Marinette immediately jumped to denial. “What?! No I haven’t! All of you is beautiful, I haven’t been staring at your-”

“My nichons?” Alya teased, walking backwards and pulling Marinette as she went. “My nibards?” She giggled as Marinette went even redder, trying desperately to look anywhere but down, even as Alya rubbed her chest. “My nénés?” When she reached the couch, Alya pulled away enough to add some space between them. “I mean, girl, I _know_ they’re great. I have big lolos. If anyone should get to appreciate them, it’s you.”

“Don’t call them lolos!” Marinette squealed with embarrassment as Alya laughed. “I feel like a little kid!”

“How about tetons[10]?” Alya asked. She pulled herself up to sit on the arm of the couch, now above Marinette. She squeezed her arms forward, pushing out her cleavage even more, which really, was not necessary. They were already practically spilling out of her V-neck.

“How about we stop talking?” Marinette countered. She put her hands on Alya’s shoulders and pushed, sending her girlfriend backwards into the couch with a stream of giggles. Marinette climbed over the couch and into Alya’s waiting arms. She giggled along until hands found homes in hair and on hips, giggles turned to the sliding, smacking noises of their mouths together, legs tangled between one another, hands wandered under shirts, and delighted moans filled the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 que dalle: Jack Shit, which means, "absolutely nothing".  
> 2chatte: Literally, female cat. (Boy cat=chat (soft, non-existent T). Girl cat=chatte (hard T).) Colloquially, pussy. You know how in English "pussy" can mean a pussy-cat or a...ahem. WELL, same thing in French! So, Adrien said "les bises des chats" (cat kisses) and Alya made a dirty pun by pronouncing the T in "les bises des chattes" (pussy kisses).  
> 3 Pschitt: A noise you make that sounds like hissing. “Shoo!” (Used mostly around cats)  
> 4 ['La Vie en Rose'](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kFzViYkZAz4) is one of the most cliché love songs in the world (and it's SO GOOD it's a fave because I'm a sap), and definitely French. Quintessential Mom-Teasing going on here.  
> 5 Poulet àla Moutarde: Mustard Chicken. Which is DELICIOUS by the way (and doesn't taste very mustard-y)  
> 6nénés: "boobies". One of many, many colloquial words for breasts. Ya gonna learn a bunch today.  
> 7Rebonjour: "Hello again". It's very expected to say 'Bonjour' when you see someone for the first time or enter a place, and when you see them again, it's very polite to say 'rebonjour'. In a casual relationship where you see each other a lot, you're probably less formal...but Alya and Marinette are VERY EXCITED they get to see each other TWICE IN ONE DAY! So of course they'd use this word!  
> 8Sa ka fèt: _Martinician Créole_ : What's up!  
> 9Trop coquine: This word, 'coquine' is haaaaard to translate. It's kind of flirty, kind of a tease, kind of a sexy woman who knows what she wants and how to get it, but typically a positive phrase. So it's not 'slutty'. This is almost always used to describe a person, not a situation, but they're teenagers who throw language rules to the wind. 'Coquine' is often meant sexually, but the entire attitude is more about romantic and physical autonomy. It's a GREAT word, but be careful. Now, about 'trop'- this means 'too', but just like in English, French teenagers/young adults will use 'trop'/'too' to mean 'very'. So Ella and Etta are basically saying 'very sexy!'  
> 10“My nichons?...nibards?...nénés?... lolos....tetons?”: ALL OF THESE MEAN 'BOOBIES'. They don't all have English equivalents, but if I had to try, I'd say nichons: rack (vulgar, common) / nibards: melons (vulgar, common)/ nénés: boobies (vulgar, childish, common) / lolos: melons (not-vulgar, very childish) / tetons: tits (vulgar, very common). The one word nobody uses is "seins", which is ACTUALLY boobs. But see...I can translate that one easily....


	8. Hôtel Vivolée

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I hope you all had a WONDERFUL Alyanette week full of beautiful fics and art. I posted something for every day and if you haven't checked any of it out yet, stop by my tumblr for a couple of arts and ficlets, or read my fluffy fic posted here ("The Christmas Favor"). You might need to after this chapter.
> 
> This chapter is by far the darkest, most mature any chapter of this story is going to get. It covers some gritty, triggering stuff. This chapter is important and gives us key action for the story later on, but I don't want anyone reading anything they're not comfortable with, so I've written a [ summary to give you the information needed ](https://gwennhadu-bug.tumblr.com/post/180302279751/summary-of-chapter-8-of-the-fox-of-marseille-if) if you choose to skip this chapter.
> 
>  **Content Warning: Sexual references** First section. Brief. **Strong references to child prostitution, which therefore includes child abuse, pedophilia, sexual abuse, and human trafficking,. Graphic descriptions of violence.** Second section. **Non-explicit sexual content (consensual).** End of the third section.
> 
> Please note that none of the above is detailed graphically or explicitly. This story is rated Mature (not Explicit), and I in no way plan on glorifying or even describing child abuse. We only read the affects. I also did try to end the chapter on a nice, comforting note because honestly, we all need it. I did when I wrote this.
> 
> However, if any of this is triggering or something you want to skip, please [ read the summary ](https://gwennhadu-bug.tumblr.com/post/180302279751/summary-of-chapter-8-of-the-fox-of-marseille-if) instead, skip any or all sections that bother you, and I'll see you on December 10th for a much happier update.

\--i--

Loud, repeating music slowly stirred Alya awake. She grumbled and groaned, habit pulling her eyes open. And she heard next to hear a loud inhale and sleepy groan, a body shifting next to hers. Alya reached out to turn off her phone’s alarm and turned to the side. In the dark of the bedroom, it was hard to make anything out. But Alya could recognize the shape of Marinette’s sleeping body. Alya had stolen all the blankets in an unconscious attempt to create her burrow, so Marinette was clutching to the tiny amount of sheet she could reach. Her shoulders and back, uncovered by sheet, were bare and reflecting ambient light. Her hair laid around her head like a halo, her face turned towards Alya, but sweetly, sleepily, unconscious. 

Alya scooted herself a little closer and gently stroked Marinette’s cheek, then leaned in to kiss her nose. She shivered- the movement had disturbed the sheet and exposed more of her bare top to the cool morning air. God, Alya wanted to tuck herself even closer to Marinette. Just stay in that bed forever. She wanted to watch Marinette sleep until her girlfriend woke up, then kiss her and tumble around in bed. She wanted to replay the way Marinette had worshipped her body, had nearly cried the first time she held Alya’s breasts in her hands, the way she’d squealed in delight when Alya’s fingernails dug in while they made out. She wanted to see again and again how Marinette’s perfect little breasts nearly bounced out of her bra, she wanted to feel the flick of nipples under her thumb and hear how her voice could change from a squeak to a groan and every octave in between.

Just watching this beautiful, sweet angel sleep and imagining her excited energy the night before was enough to make Alya feel a little wet all over again. And god, she hoped they had sex soon. Marinette was already amazing making out...adding that level of intimacy? Alya licked her lips just imagining it. She could already tell it would be an amazing experience.

“Hey,” a rough voice said, directly against Alya’s ear.  “Lovergirl. We need to go to work, don’t we?”

“Chut,[1] you’re going to wake her up,” Alya whispered. She sighed quietly, carefully sitting up in the bed to not disturb Marinette. Alya grabbed her glasses, put them on, and then tenderly refit the stolen sheets all around Marinette. It felt bittersweet to cover that beautiful shining body, her toned arms, tight stomach, and beautiful breasts. But it felt loving and gentle to tuck her in, and felt natural to finish the act with another kiss to the forehead.

Alya got out of the bed and onto the floor to stretch, using the downward dog position to snap her body awake. She hadn’t exactly brought pajamas, so she wore a pair of Marinette’s pajama pants and, just as she went to bed, no shirt.

Trixx continued to ride in Alya’s hair as she shed the pajama pants and pulled on her clothes from the day before. “You can’t be out when she’s in the room. Not even hiding in my hair,” Alya whispered. “You should have stayed put.”

“I waited until you were both totally asleep,  _ then  _ I hid in your hair. I promise!” Trixx claimed. They nuzzled farther into the mess of curls, clutching onto Alya’s ear. “Nobody saw a thing. I’m very sneaky!”

“You should have just slept in my bag,” Alya told them. 

“That’s too lonely. Can you bring my bed next time we sleep over?”

Alya snorted. “Right, because it’s a totally normal and adult thing, to bring an empty doll bed to your girlfriend’s house.” She reached into her bag and pulled a notebook page out, scrawling a quick note for Marinette.  _ Gone to change at home before breakfast and work. Sleep well, ma choupette. I miss you already! _ She put the note on the now empty pillow and kissed Marinette’s ear, then left the room for the shared bathroom to brush her teeth.

Alya was used to moving silently in the shadows. She wandered through the apartment, silent as the morning dew with both full-time occupants asleep. She slipped out the door and into the street. Hiding behind a dumpster, she transformed into Rena Rouge and began her long journey across the roofs of Paris. Rena raced the sunrise, but made it home when it was still barely after 6 am. She moved just as efficiently there, changing into a new outfit while Trixx got themselves breakfast. With a surge of optimism, Alya swapped her small purse for a larger one, stuffing a second outfit inside with her toothbrush and face wash. And then she was Rena again, making her way back to the center of Paris and the T&S boulangerie-patisserie.

Alya dropped her transformation a good block away from the boulangerie, looked across the river in the direction of Marinette’s apartment, and sighed. “Woy, Trixx. Nothing makes me wish I lived in a lower arrondissement than waking up at Marinette’s. Can you imagine this? It’s fifteen minutes to the office by train from her apartment. We could practically walk!”

“Then don’t screw it up and move in with her!” Trixx suggested. They were riding in Alya’s hair, just like they had that morning. “Not today, but...you know, eventually. She obviously likes you. She just needs more ice cream at her apartment and then it will be perfect!”

“Weren’t you just complaining that you didn’t have your little bed an hour ago?”

“Yeah, but it’s a small price to pay if I don’t have to be your taxi twice a day before sunrise. I  _ hate _ transforming in the morning. Besides, if you moved in, you can bring my bed with you! She already knows you’re a weirdo.”

“You’re the weirdo,” Alya disagreed. She pushed a hand into her hair, fingers looking for Trixx to scratch their ears. Instead, Trixx nipped Alya’s fingers. “Hey! Pute![2] I was trying to pet you!”

Trixx pushed the top of their ears into Alya’s fingers, saying, “Oh. In that case, go ahead, Alya!”

“Nope,” Alya pulled her hand out of her hair. “You lost your chance by being an ungrateful, rude little renardeau. Let’s just see if I buy you your ice cream today.” She pushed open the boulangerie door and stepped in. Now that the Summer Sales had been over for a full week, the crowds at the boulangerie-patisserie had shifted back to just a regular stream of Parisians getting their morning breakfast on the way to work. 

Alya joined the other regulars in line, quickly moving to the front. Sabine smiled at her warmly, saying, “Good morning, Alya. You’re here a little earlier than usual!”

“I’m actually running a little later. I haven’t stopped at work yet,” she explained. “Just the regular breakfast, please. No croissant or café du lait.”

Sabine called back for Alya’s regular order, then said, “Oh, of course. With you so early, I’m not sure you’ll see Marinette this morning. She typically sleeps in.”

“Yeah, I didn’t expect to see her this morning,” Alya agreed. In her mind’s eye, she could clearly see Marinette exactly as she probably was. Curled on the bed. Maybe her sheet had fallen a little lower as she stirred, maybe she was on her back with her breasts falling into perfect ovals with sunrise light streaming in through the curtains...maybe she was twisting with sleep...and maybe...maybe she shouldn’t be thinking those things with Marinette’s mother  _ literally _ right in front of her. Alya’s face grew extremely hot and she stammered, “She was up late last night, that’s all...all I meant.”

“You two stayed up late?” Sabine asked, putting a peach in the bag with Trixx’s ice cream. 

“But then I went home!” Alya lied, speaking probably a bit too loud. “And before I left she said she would probably sleep in!”

“Alright, chèrie,” Sabine said, handing Alya her tiny cup of espresso. “Just don’t let my daughter distract you from work. I’m looking forward to a front page story soon!”

“You and me both, Madame,” Alya said. She felt physically relieved the topic of conversation had changed. “I’m working on a fun article right now about Mayor Haprèle’s family. Apparently her husband is a mime?”

“Oh, yes! We know him. They’re a great family...Marinette went to school with Madame La Mayor’s daughter.”

“You two just seem to know everyone, don’t you?” Alya asked, laughing. “I’m interviewing them today or tomorrow. From what Lorraine said, Paris is really used to knowing Mayor Bourgeois’s family, and the Haprèles are a little quieter.” She grinned. “I’m hoping to use the mime angle to connect to them being quieter.”

“Very clever!” Sabine laughed. “Good luck with your article, chèrie. Make sure Marinette gets to bed on time tonight, will you? She’s just going to get more stressed now that it’s the second half of August.”

“I’ll do my best, Madame.”

“Once it’s September, they will  _ both _ be going crazy. Adrien will have school in session, Marinette will be working late to prepare for Fashion Week...” Sabine shook her head. “We’ve had to make them Rentrée dinners quite a few times.”

“Oh, I could help with that!” Alya said, excitedly. “I could let you off the hook and feed your children.” Alya winked.

Sabine grinned right back. “I knew there was a reason I liked you, Mademoiselle.”

\--ii--

For once, Chat Noir called Rena Rouge to come help him with something in her own neighborhood. The Friday night he called, Rena took the message on her flute and called Chat back, ready to tell him that she couldn’t help (after all, she had a date that night). But then she told him what they were up against.

So instead, she hung up her flute, picked up Alya’s phone, and called Marinette to tell her she’d be a little late. Then she was off, sprinting over roofs and through alleys to get to the low-budget H ô tel  Vivolée  [3] just seven blocks from her apartment. Rena scanned the area for Chat Noir, found him, and leapt to his rooftop. “Do you know where the connard de putang[4] is?” Rena asked, dropping to Chat’s side.

Chat Noir turned in surprise to the fox-woman just inches from his own face. “Well, bonsoir to you too, Rena. It’s been awhile; nice to see I still have some of your fox-ination!”

Rena sighed dramatically. She punched Chat’s arm and rolled her eyes. “Bonsoir, Chaton. We can catch up after we hunt down this guy. What do you know about him?”

Chat lowered his head, narrowing his eyes at the building across the street from them. “We know the Johns have all been going to either the 5th floor or the 7th floor. So either he has at least two operations going on, he’s just on one of those two, or-”

“Or the victims are on the floor in between those floors and they’re using the stairs.”

“Right! See, this is why we’re so com-paw-tible.”

“Sure,” Rena said with a chuckle. She counted windows to find the floors in question. It was a eight story hotel, so the entire top half was in question. “And the police are…?”

“There’s an undercover cop looking for something to pin the guy down with. They don’t have solid proof yet, but the chatter on the police radio seemed really certain.”

Rena blinked in surprise, ears flicking towards Chat Noir. “When the fox did you start listening to the police radio?”

Chat shrugged. “I get bored sometimes lately. So, what’s our plan? You don’t have any super-child-smelling powers, do you?”

Rena scoffed and shook her head. “No way, minou. I would normally just stalk around windows until I see something. But most of the curtains are drawn...hey, you have super hearing, right? Do you think you could hear things if we walk through the hallway?”

“That might-” Chat broke off mid sentence as his baton started to buzz. “Hold on, it must be Ladybug.” Rena growled, but let Chat answer the call. “Yes. Oh, you can? I thought you had a thing with your-...oh, well that works out, then. Well, Rena’s here, so we should have it under control….no, not yet. No, not yet. Hey! That’s very rude, Buginette! … Well, of course, I’d love your help.” Rena pulled on her ears and groaned. She really,  _ really _ didn’t want to have to see Ladybug tonight, but it wasn’t her choice,  _ apparently _ . “Yeah, follow the GPS. Okay. See you in two tail shakes.”

“We could have done this without her,” Rena snarled once Chat hung up. “The Mammal Crew! Everything is paw-ssible for us!”

“Sure, but I don’t want to mess this one up,” Chat said. “I’d like to have her luck on our side. I don’t want to miss a single kid.”

Rena looked back at the building. She hated to agree, but she said, “-or a single connard pedophile, pimp, or John.”

Ladybug arrived surprisingly fast. She greeted Chat affectionately, Ladybug and Rena Rouge exchanging polite nods. Then, the three of them began to create a plan. They leaped to the hotel with a plan in mind: Ladybug would patrol the seventh floor, Rena would take the sixth, and Chat would take the fifth. Their goal was to look for the pimp or pimps, contain them for the police to arrest, and Chat could use his cataclysm to break the staircase if any of them tried to run. 

Once on the roof, it was easy to use their weapons’ maps of the building interior to find the roof entrance and get to their floor. Hopefully, they would catch the bastards quickly and Rena could stay an entire floor away from Ladybug while they were at it. Then get to her date with Marinette.

She and the other heroes pushed through the roof entrance door to the stairwell. Chat stuck his head in first, using his night-vision to check it. “Empty,” he announced, then swung into the stairwell and snaked down. Rena followed suit, padding on all fours down the stairs. Ladybug followed behind them and for once, she was smart enough not to use that ridiculous, noisy yo-yo. Rena reached her floor about the same time as everyone else, slipping in. 

The hotel hallway was nothing special. Old, stained carpet, pulled up in corners, rough under Rena’s paw pads. Cheap wallpaper and lights, one of which was flickering sadly. The doors, though. These were what she wanted. A narrow hallway with 24 possible outcomes. Twenty-four possible rooms of torture and broken childhoods. Or, twenty-four innocent rooms hiding nothing at all. 

She crept down the hallway, pressing an ear to each door. Some rooms seemed empty, others had loud conversations. Some mattresses creaked. Some televisions blared. _How the fuck do I know which ones are suspicious?_ _I can’t just break in to all of them. And these jerks aren’t necessarily lying...so I can’t sniff them out…_ Rena chewed her lip nervously. There plan hadn’t gone much farther than ‘you take this floor, I take this one’. But if Ladybug was the one to come up with it, Chat would do anything she said. So here she was, padding down a hallway, desperate to save their victims with no idea how.

And then she noticed something two doors away. Rena dropped to the ground and crawled, chest-fluff sliding along over to the carpet right in front of room 613. Skid marks, as if someone had dragged something into the room. But unsettled skid marks, as if that something had been fighting back. Her tail flicked. Could this be it? She looked up at the door, which stared back at her, identical to every other door in the hallway.

Rena pushed her ear closer to the door, listening intently. Squealing mattress springs. A loud television.  _ A really damn loud television _ ...and crying. Rena’s heart tightened and she pressed her hands against the door. Listening harder. She could hear the mattress, some awful grunting, and the crying...it sounded...it sounded...

Another sound. Footsteps. Rena swung around the other direction: at the end of the hall, a man had just stepped out of the stairwell. He looked at her and his eyes went wide. And then he turned around. “Oh, you don’t get away from me,” Rena snarled. Still on all fours, she sprinted after the man. He looked over his shoulder and stumbled in shock. That was when Rena pounced, snarling as she flew through the air.

Clawed gloves dug into polyester and skin as Rena pushed the man to the floor. She did not and could not let this person get away, but her mind was still sitting in front of 613, listening to the crying on the other side of the door. Rena lowered her mouth to the man’s ear and snarled, “What room were you going to?”

He didn’t answer.

Rena dug her claws into his shoulder, listening with pleasure as he hissed in pain. “What  _ room _ were you going to?”

No answer. And from his scent, he was scared, but not enough to say anything. Not scared yet, at least. But fuck, she needed to scope out room 613! “Listen up, con.[5] You either answer me or I assume you’re guilty for something you better pray you can’t even imagine. And I’m not the judge you want deciding your punishment. Now, what room were you going to?”

Still, he didn’t answer. Rena groaned. She didn’t have time for this! “You’re really going to wish you took me seriously, dude.” She pulled her flute out and brought it down as hard as possible on the back of the man’s head, knocking him out cold. She quickly checked his pulse, nodded in satisfaction, and then looked around for something to restrain the guy. Unfortunately, there weren’t many options. So Rena lifted him easily, on her shoulders, to 613 with her. She placed the man on the floor in front of the room, arranged in a pile right by the doorway. Next, Rena knocked firmly and quickly before slipping into the nearby shadows. She listened carefully to the room. The television stayed on, the creaking stopped very suddenly, and there was a grumbling voice. The crying turned to a whimper, then a louder whimper, then it stopped. For a moment, so did Rena’s heart.

A man opened the door, wearing just a button-down shirt and boxers. He looked at eye-level first before dropping his view down to the unconscious body at his feet. “Shit, Bill.” He slammed the door shut on his friend and Rena pounced.

She slammed her entire body weight into the door, snapping it off its hinges and onto the floor. Rena immediately looked at the room- the man who answered the door was holding a phone in his hand, eyes wide at the damage before him. On the bed, tied to the bedpost, was…

Rena could only look at her for a second. Bruises on her tiny body. Skin ravaged and underdeveloped. Eyes vacant- too far away and empty to even look surprised. She looked back at the man. “Oh, you fucker,” was her only warning. She screamed, pounced, and brought the man right to the floor. Blood pounded in her vision, desperate to tear the man’s throat out with her teeth. She went for the ear instead, ripping it to hang partially off. Her mouth filled with his blood and ears filled with his scream, until she could muffle it with a hand, then stuff the mouth with the pants he had discarded on the floor. He choked on his own pants, which Rena ignored.

She had to work quickly. There could be other rooms. She targeted his legs next. Sure, the ankles would accomplish what she needed. But with the blank eyes of the girl on the bed burned in her mind, she turned and wrapped one hand around a thigh and one around his calf and pulled in opposite directions. He screamed into his cloth gag as the bone popped out of its socket. For the next one, she just brought her fists down on his other femur until it snapped, white of bone and red of blood poking out the side. This absolute shit-stain of a human being wasn’t moving from this hotel floor anytime soon.

Satisfied with his immobility, Rena turned again. With the taste of blood still on her lips, she spat into his face, “What other rooms are there?”

He shook his head, tears streaming down his face as he tried to scream. It was a desperate, sad cry. It was a shaking head that he didn’t know. And Rena frowned. The jackass really, truly, didn’t know. “Did you pay for that girl?” Weakly, he nodded. “Did that man,” she pointed a shaking finger at the unconscious man in the front of the room, “sell her to you?” He nodded.

And Rena decided then and there that a flute over the head was nowhere near enough for what he deserved. She stood up and looked around the room. Then pulled open her flute and called Chat, who picked up immediately. “I have a John incapacitated and I have a pimp. He might be  _ the _ pimp. He’s out cold, so I don’t really know.”

“Grace à toi?"[6]

“Obviously. Anyway, I also have…” she glanced at the foot of the bed. The girl had begun to sniffle. “A victim. I think there’s more that we need to smoke out. But since I don’t know where or who they are, I can’t just smoke them out with an illusion...I need you and Ladybug to keep working.”

“Can you wake up the pimp and ask him?”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess I can.” Rena blinked, surprised she hadn’t considered that herself. “Keep your eye on the stairs. I may have, uh, spooked some neighbors.”

“Got it, Rena,” Chat replied. Rena hung up, then looked between the two men on the floor. And then the girl on the bed.

Slowly, Rena walked towards her, fox ears back and hands up. She noticed they shone with blood, so hastily, she wiped them clean on her thighs. “I’m coming to untie you,” she announced. The girl just looked at her blankly, eyes too dry and empty to cry.

Rena choked and forced herself to remain calm and not break down in front of this strong, broken child. She gently pulled the sheets off the bed and tucked them around the girl like a dress, then set to work untying the bands. “Hi. My name is Rena Rouge. I’m a good guy, like you.” She tried to smile, but the child couldn’t smile back.Rena swallowed and with a shaking voice, said, “My friends and I are going to look for the other bad guys. Do you...do you know if there are more kids like you in this hotel?”

She just blinked. She didn’t answer. And Rena couldn’t smell a single emotion, shred of honesty or dishonesty, coming from this child. It was like speaking to a corpse. “Okay, Mademoiselle. That’s okay. Hey, if you want to just stay here, my friends and I will send the police to help you. Okay?” She moved to stroke the child’s hair, but Rena’s hand froze in mid-air. Maybe she wouldn’t want to be touched. Maybe it was best not to. Maybe...god, she had no idea how to deal with this. But she could definitely find more of the assholes in this hotel. “You’re going to be okay.”

Rena left the bed, careful to trod on the stomach of the crying John on the floor as she walked to the unconscious pimp. Grabbing a discarded fitted sheet from the floor as she went, she carried the pimp- Bill, right? -out of the room. She dragged him to the end of the hallway, tore the sheet in half, and tied his hands together, followed by his feet. 

Bending down face-to-face, Rena tried to memorize every line. The way his nose had a bulbous tip, the way his eyes slanted forward, the way his hair grew. Where he’d obviously had surgery, where he had a scar on his chin...everything. If this man somehow got away from her today, he wouldn’t get away again. She licked her tongue over her fangs. Then she pulled her open hand back and slapped as hard as she could.

His eyes snapped open and he immediately backed against the wall. “You again,” he said, speaking to Rena for the first time that night.

“Me again, salope.[7] How many are there?”

Before he could answer, Rena’s head snapped up. She heard a ruckus overhead, and Rena was immediately on her feet. She looked back at the man and yelled, “How many are there?!”

Silence.

“Ugh, you’re such a sack of shit,” Rena snarled. She could hear zipping overhead now- Ladybug was in pursuit of someone. So Rena whipped out her flute and knocked Bill on the head again. He fell to the floor on the wall and she kicked him, then sprinted towards the stairs.

In the stairwell, she heard Ladybug screaming and saw another man rushing, wearing nothing but a tie, down the stairs. Rena grinned and stuck her flute out as he tried to pass by, tripping the guilty man. He yowled in pain, falling with his head crashing against the stairs. “You got him, Ladybug?”

From the landing above, Ladybug launched her yo-yo down, tying up the nearly-naked man. “Now I do,” she grunted.

“Don’t yank him up yet,” Rena asked. She walked over to the man, stood him up, and put a pointed glove on his neck. “Hey. L’ame-de-chiasse.[8] What’s your pimp’s name?”

“B-Bill,” he muttered, looking from Rena to Ladybug.

Rena nodded. She smelled no lie. Just for good measure, she kneed the man in his bare groin, then saluted to Ladybug. “Yank him up, Ladybug. I’ve got-”

Rena was suddenly cut off, pushed to the ground and onto her hands by a running force. “What the hell?” she snarled, rolling to stand up. And there was  _ fucking Bill _ , sprinting down the stairs. “CHAT NOIR!” Rena screamed at the top of her lungs.

Ladybug yanked up her John and Rena snarled as she took off down the stairs after the pimp. Obediently, Chat stepped out of his doorway, pushed in the chest by Bill as he kept going down the stairs. Rena was in hot pursuit, but the way the stairs criss-crossed, she couldn’t just jump down to the bottom floor. He was going faster than her. As Rena passed Chat, she yelled, “Break them!”

Chat screamed at the top of his lung; the word was familiar but muffled in Rena’s ears. All she could hear was her own heartbeat and her own panting breath. Suddenly, the floor turned to dust under her feet. She fell through the dust, the man screaming as he fell along. Rena reached out and grabbed him, digging her claws into his side and bracing for their impact. A five-story fall would have killed the man, and she didn’t want him dead yet. 

Ladybug landed next. “I left my man with Chat on the fifth floor,” she said, “before he cataclysmed it.”

Rena whirled around and slammed Bill into the stone wall. The impact brought a flurry of dust around them, both from the broken stairs below them and the old wall. “Room 613 has a John and a victim. Get the police to help her, Ladybug. And do not fucking clean this building up until that John is in custody this time. Got it?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Rena could see Ladybug check her GPS of the building. “I won’t, Rouge. There’s maintenance stairs on the other side,” she announced, “I’ll lead them up that way. Do you have this guy?”

Rena pushed Bill’s body further into the stone, snarling, “You bet your ass I have him.” She waited until Ladybug disappeared from view, the door behind her snapping shut, and she was alone with Bill in the still-settling dust of the stairwell. “Just you and me, Bill,” Rena said. Her voice reverberated up the nine-story stairwell and back to them in a haunting chorus of vague threats.

And still, Bill didn’t reply.

“You’re not getting away this time,” Rena said. Making good on her promise, she stomped on his foot. He yowled in pain, louder than the crack of broken bone. “I’m going easy on you physically, Bill. You know why? Because I don’t want your pain distracting you.” She dropped him, Bill falling to the floor and sending a puff of dust up around them. Rena whipped out her flute, smirking as Bill flinched. “Naw. Not doing that, either.” She wiggled the flute in front of him, hissing, “This is going to be much worse.”

Rena put the flute to her lips and played a few choice notes. Her eyes burned with tears as she tried to imagine the worst possible things to cross her mind. That sweet little girl, floating before them draped in the hotel sheet like an angel robe. Over every spot where she had a bruise, the cloth was burnt with blood dripping from the hole. Her lifeless eyes were closed, her hair floating around her head as if on fire. The dust from the ground rose up around her, slowly hissing and squelching as they formed scores of other children. They wore the same angelic robes with their own storied bruises. The roar of a storm filled the stairwell, each child floating with closed eyes. Until their eyes were no longer shut.

Thousands of moments of childhood flashed before them. Birthday parties. Picnics. Walks along the Seine. Boat races at the Tuileries. The first day of school. Trains blazing through the country. Pet stores. Freshly reheated pastries. And in every brightly colored memory stood the angel child. Their skin turned to gray, their eyes black and dark, and when they opened their mouths to scream, the entire room began to crack. They returned to the stairwell, stones rumbling and falling out of place. They crashed to the ground around Rena and Bill and a third figure in red that Rena hadn’t imagined, billowing more clouds of dust into the air. Dust that formed a spindly hand. A hand that reached out for Bill. 

Rena imagined the hand lifting him into the air, squeezing him tightly until another child appeared to float before them. Bill, as a little boy, dressed in the same garments of off-white hotel sheet. But that was a garment of pain. And so, she imagined him feeling that pain as bruises began to appear, holes burning into the garment and blood dripping out. Feeling the pressure of something too tight, too large, too cruel, too strange, too unfamiliar, too soon, too wrong. Over and over and over again.

Rena worked through her tears, imagining the worst she possibly could until she heard her miraculous beep for the third time. This was too deep of an illusion to push Trixx beyond their limits- if she didn’t leave now, Alya Césaire would be standing unarmed with a man who she truly hoped she’d rendered mentally unstable.

So she blinked and lowered her shoulders and looked at life as it really was. Bill was now trembling with wide eyes, staring off at nothing in particular, with a completely pale face. As he should be. And to her right...was goddamn Ladybug. She was also pale in the face, but staring directly at Rena. Her legs were quaking. Her antennae were stick-straight. “Rouge, I came to come tell you that your John is in custody and ask if you were ready for me to heal the hotel. And...what...the hell..was that?”

Rena pointed to Bill and hissed, “That was his punishment.”

“I could see that!” Ladybug yelled back. Her legs still shook, though her voice seemed perfectly sturdy. “Don’t you think that was a little far? Look at him! You broke him! He won’t ever be the same!”

Sputtering a laugh, Rena replied, “So? And??”

“Don’t you think that’s too far?”

“Hell, no! I would have gone farther,” Rena waved her fox-tail zipper at Ladybug, “if I had the time! He deserves every second of his life to be living hell and I want his brain to be stuck in the depths of hell it requires!”

“Rena, you can’t heal something like this!”

Rena dropped her zipper back against her chest and pointed a finger directly up, towards the sixth floor. “You can’t heal something like  _ that _ , either! That little girl...did you see your John’s victim, Ladybug?!”

“What does that have to do with this?”

“Do you think those kids get to have normal memories now? Do you think they get to have normal lives? Do you think they’re going to get healed by your magical happy-go-lucky fix-everything charm? And do you know who did that to them?” She pointed back at Bill, screaming louder, “This fucker! This devil incarnate! This spineless piece of dog shit! He is responsible for that and so he deserves to live in hell for as long as his brain works.” Her miraculous beeped again. “Did you see the eyes of those children, Punaise? Did you see what he and his terrible pedophiles did to them?”

“I saw the eyes you showed us,” Ladybug answered. Her antennae were starting to bend, more rounded, more cautious.

“Those were the eyes I saw in that hotel room. You cannot stand here in your red and black spandex and say that the man who ruined the lives of...well, I don’t know how many children. At least two, but from what I could see in his imagination,  _ definitely more _ ...you can’t say he deserves any more joy in this life and claim to be a hero. A hero does not defend the villain.”

“You  _ know _ that sometimes the villain-”

“Not when it involves children, Ladybug!” Rena cut her off, screaming, her body shaking, fur quivering. “Not when it involves children, there are  _ no _ excuses! There are no exceptions! There is no….forgiveness! He deserves to rot in his own brain!” She turned back to Bill, spitting on his face and wishing that spit still had blood in it. There was certainly enough blood pounding in her ears. “Adieu[9], Punaise,” Rena snarled, leaping up and using the wall to bounce up the stairwell.

From far below, Ladybug screamed up, “This isn’t Adieu! We aren’t done!”

Immaturely, Rena shrieked back, “Va te Faire![10]” before she bounded to grab hold of the roof access door. A swing of the legs pushed it wide open and she stumbled onto the roof, gasping for breath. 

A whirl of light wrapped Rena until Alya collapsed on the roof. She immediately began to sob, her body shaking and exhausted. Trixx collapsed next to her, gasping from the effort of the illusion. Shaking hands grabbed hold of Trixx and pulled them tight while a swarm of Ladybugs lit up the doorway behind them. The miraculous cure.

“I want to see my girlfriend,” Alya cried, squeezing Trixx even tighter. “I want my Marinette.”

\--iii--

It took Alya a good fifteen minutes before she had the strength to stand back up. And that was pushing herself, reminding herself what a badass bitch she was the entire time. She gripped the railing and carefully led herself down the stairs, looking at nothing but what was directly in front of her face for the entire nine stories. 

Alya walked through the main floor of the H ô tel  Vivolée , now swarming with police. Ladybug and Chat Noir were there, talking with a police chief. Policewomen and social workers surrounded nine children  _ (Seven girls and two boys, the youngest looks nine or ten, the oldest is maybe sixteen….god, they’re younger than Ella and Etta… _ ) and there were eight men in handcuffs, lined along the floor. A few looked significantly more bruised up than others. Alya’s John had bandages around his head, stomach, and legs.  _ (Ranging in ages from their thirties to at least one senior citizen. The men look guilty, three are crying, one is trying to argue with the police.)  _ Other policemen just milled around, pushing against one another in a rush to take notes and get work done.

Alya tried to ignore them all. She wished her professional brain would shut up and stop noticing what the men looked like, what the police were saying, how Bill was babbling like a madman, or how that little girl from room 613 wouldn’t make eye-contact with the social workers at all. She just wanted to get out.

She felt Ladybug’s eyes on her, heard a tiny gasp, and stared straight ahead. Her jaw set, but she refused to engage. Ladybug didn’t know who Alya Césaire was. And for that, Alya Césaire was luckier than Rena Rouge. So she planned to keep it that way. She left the hotel, turned towards home, and let her autopilot guide her.

When Alya got home, she stumbled to the freezer and opened Trixx’s raspberry ice cream. Her kwami flew to the new container, letting out a groan mixed with exhaustion and hunger, then dug in. Alya crashed into her couch, running a hand over her face. God, she missed Marinette. 

And so she pulled out her phone and began to text, typing faster than replies would allow. 

- _ Doudou I’m done working that story _

_ -I miss you. I’m so excited to see you. I’m so sorry it’s so late. Can I still see you? _

_ -I miss you Marinette. This story was heavy shit. Can we move the date to my house instead of the bookstore? _

With no immediate reply, Alya started to whine. “Trixx, I miss her. I feel so...so empty. Trixx, I keep seeing her when I close my eyes.”

“You see Marinette?” Trixx asked, looking up from their ice cream. 

“No. The girl in that hotel room.” Alya ran her hands through her hair, feeling very small. “I keep seeing her eyes. She is so young, Trixx.”

“So what you did was important, Alya. You saved her.”

“I can’t save her memories,” Alya whispered. 

Trixx left their ice cream on the table and flew to Alya. They put their paws on her face, making eye contact and whispering, “You’re a good person, Alya,” then nuzzled their body ears to tail against their holder’s cheek. 

Both kwami and woman looked down when Alya’s phone buzzed in her hands, eager to read Marinette’s reply. - _ I want to see you, too. We can go on our bookstore date another time… I’m on my way!  _ Then she added,  _ -I’m already in your area. Should be about 10 min. _

“Ten minutes,” she sighed, already feeling warmer and more whole. Alya rolled on the couch over to her Rena Rouge article wall and started to pull them down. “Trixx, can you help me with these?”

“Are we going to take them down and put them back up every time you have company? Can we just make a scrapbook?” Trixx whined, flying off of Alya’s shoulder to the wall and peeling tape.

“I like it on the wall,” she argued back simply. But frankly, Trixx was probably right. They collected the pile of articles and tucked them under a couch cushion, then Alya went to the kitchen to put away Trixx’s ice cream. She sat back down and hammered out quick, cold, emotionless notes on the prostitution ring bust. She emailed them to Lorraine and knew she’d be asked to write a real article at work the next day...but god, she wished she didn’t have to. Soon, her phone was buzzing again with Marinette’s text. “Alright, Trixx. Go get a book and hide.”

“Next time, we’re getting a two-bedroom so I can get my own room,” Trixx announced.

Alya laughed out loud. “Trixx, you are 10 centimeters tall. You’re not getting your own bedroom, you spoiled thing. I already set up a reading nook for you in the coat closet. You have a lamp in there and everything!”

Trixx flitted over to the books and pulled their current mystery novel out, clicking their tongue in disappointment even as they flew to the closet. “You’ve read  _ Harry Potter _ , Alya. You should know what happens when you force small, magical beings to live in closets instead of giving them bedrooms.”

On her way to the front door, Alya opened the coat closet for Trixx, who flew up to the top shelf and clicked on the lamp. “Sure, okay. When you turn into a fully-grown twelve year old boy, we’ll talk about finding a bigger room for you.”

“I’m much older than twelve!” Trixx fought back. They pushed their multi-colored scarf into a comfortable position and from behind their book, stuck their tongue out at Alya.

“Goodnight, Trixx,” Alya said and shut the closet door. Then she opened her own door, leaned out the hallway, and felt warm once again for the second time that night. Making her way up the old, rickety stairs, she could see her Marinette. “Hey, girl!” Alya exhaled, feeling a flood of relief and affection. And that flood of emotions began to push at her eyes. She stomped her foot, trying not to let the emotion come out.

“Alya!” Marinette gasped, rushing up the stairs. She practically jumped into Alya’s arms, spinning with her girlfriend and kissing her cheek. “Alya, I’m here now.”

“Oh, my god, Marinette,” Alya coughed out. She frantically wiped tears out from under her glasses, whispering, “I missed you so much.” They stood, hugging and sniffling in the doorway until Alya finally took a step back. “Um, we should probably go inside,” she offered, laughing weakly.

Alya always felt a twinge of embarrassment leading Marinette into her studio. Alya was smart with her money- her salary wasn’t great, but the apartment’s rent was comfortably just under a third of her salary. It meant she could afford to buy soft blankets, eat good food, take her girlfriend on dates, buy a  _ lot _ of ice cream, and save up for train tickets back to Marseille for holidays. But it also meant that compared to her girlfriend’s place, Alya’s home felt like a dump.

Somehow, though, Marinette didn’t make it feel like that. When Marinette was in the room, everything felt much more comfortable and home-like. It felt safe. It felt warm. It no longer felt too small- just cozy. Marinette took off her shoes and shut the door, then held Alya in her arms again. “Your text sounded really upset, ma jolie. Do you want to talk about it?”

Alya shook her head and held on tighter. “It was a shitty assignment. Pedophiles. Child sex slaves. The kind of thing I don’t want to have to write about, because it never should exist in the first place. I was right there to write about it, and it just...that kind of evil just sucks the life out of you.”

Considering how terrible that information was, Marinette didn’t seem shocked. Not even shocked that Alya was there. She just rubbed her back and kissed her cheek again. “It does suck the life out of you, doesn’t it? You’ll recover, though. You’re strong and you’ll recover.”

“I can’t forget those kids’ faces,” Alya disagreed. She let go of Marinette and wandered into the tiny kitchen, pulling a coffee maker out of a cabinet and setting it on the one square of counter space. “Do you want a cup? I need a cup.” Maybe splash something extra in it, too.

“Sure, I’ll take one,” Marinette agreed. She sat at the kitchen table while Alya worked in silence. There was no bounce in her step or swing in her hips as she worked in the kitchen tonight. And every time she blinked, she saw those awful, dead eyes of the girl from 613. 

“I don’t know how those kids are going to get over this,” she said quietly.

“Do you know how long they were...um…”

“No, I don’t.” Alya laughed coldly. “I, uh, wasn’t the most professional tonight. I didn’t get all the information I needed for the article.”

“Oh. Well, the police know,” Marinette announced, very confident. “I’m sure you can just get in touch with the chief in charge for your article, especially since you were there tonight.”

“Yeah, I can.” She continued staring at the coffee maker, watching it drip and bubble in the silence between them.

“There is a lot of evil in the world. It isn’t fair that they had to see that as children,” Marinette finally said. “It isn’t fair that they had to go through that and have love confused for hate.”

“No, it fucking isn’t fair,” Alya agreed. She had enough coffee in a cup to start the next. Silence again. She thought about the punishment she’d doled out to the pimp and Alya hoped he was the only one who deserved that. Of course, those awful Johns involved deserved that, too. But at least Alya had given justice to one of them. She turned to Marinette and handed her the cup of coffee, nodding politely at her soft expression of gratitude. “How old was Adrien when….?”

“When he…? Oh, when his father went to jail?”

“Yeah.”

“We were in our Première year in lycée,” Marinette explained. “Just sixteen years old.”

“Merde. That’s my sisters’ ages,” Alya muttered. She grabbed her cup of coffee and sat down at the table wit Marinette. It was older than most of the victims tonight. But still too young.

Although, were you ever old enough to find out your father was evil?

Marinette continued, “He basically moved in with us at that point. And I’m glad he did, because it really, really messed us up for awhile. Especially Adrien, but…” Marinette looked off to the side, drumming her fingers on the table. It had been nearly a decade at the point, by Alya’s math, but time hadn’t healed the wound entirely. At least not on Marinette’s face. “I didn’t tell you what he did, did I?”

“No. Was it...something like tonight?”

“God, no. Thankfully. But it was still evil, vile, and...really, really complicated.” She sighed. “Adrien doesn’t like to talk about it.”

“I know.” Alya grabbed Marinette’s hand. “You don’t have to tell me, Marinette. If you don’t want to break his trust.”

“It’s my secret, too. He hurt me, too.”

And suddenly, Alya felt an angry bristle. He hurt her? Adrien’s father had hurt Marinette?? She had decided to respect Adrien’s privacy and not Google his dad. She didn’t tell coworkers that she was friends with Adrien Agreste and intentionally tuned out when they mentioned anything to do with that last name. Frankly, Alya had enough mystery and intrigue and villainy around her life, and Adrien seemed so much happier that she was never weird about his past. So she just accepted the question, just accepted ‘He was evil, so he’s in jail forever now’ as life. But if he had hurt  _ Marinette _ … 

Marinette sighed and answered Alya’s unspoken question. “Adrien’s dad was Le Papillon.”

“The fuck? Le Papillon?!” Alya nearly knocked her coffee over as she jumped in shock.  _ Le Papillon? _ The man behind all of those really cool akumas that Ladybug and Chat Noir fought when she was a little girl? The almost cartoony supervillain, mysterious and vile and...he had never felt like a real person from her home safe in Marseille. Even when she took her own miraculous, just a few months before Ladybug and Chat Noir fought their last akuma, it didn’t feel like something that was real. Or dangerous. Or could ever be personal. But he was Adrien’s dad?

Marinette cringed at Alya’s reaction. “Yeah. And it was...it was really complicated. We didn’t know it was him, obviously. No one did. But he sent those akumas out after me, after Adrien, after all our friends...akumas with the intent to kill, sometimes.” She took a shuddering breath. “Adrien almost died a lot. A lot more than anyone realized, actually. And that was his fucking  _ dad _ the whole time.”

“That’s even worse,” Alya said, her voice coming out in a rather Rena-like snarl. “That’s even more evil.”

“He had a motive. To save Adrien’s mom? That was his motive.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Alya decided, shaking her head. “Adrien was his son. He endangered Paris. He hurt you guys...you were just kids! You were just children! As a father, he should have even  _ less _ motive to risk anyone’s life.”

Marinette didn’t reply. She seemed far away , sad, and hurt. And that just made everything even more solid to Alya. Le Papillon had terrorized Paris for four years before Ladybug and Chat Noir took him down. And now, eight years later, his victims were still suffering.

Alya thought about the girl in 613. She thought about her life, eight years from now, when she would maybe be sitting across the table from her loved one, still unable to move on from her tortured past. Would her eyes still stare back so empty?

Whatever hell M. Agreste had in prison, Alya was sure he deserved worse.

“I bring it up because it will get better for those kids,” Marinette announced. Clearly, her mind was nowhere near where Alya’s was. “Adrien is scarred. He really is. He goes to therapy still, and probably always will, but he hasn’t let his father’s choice or the way his father affected his childhood stop him from growing into an amazing man. He is a happy person. He is an incredible teacher. And,” she shrugged, “he has more good days than bad days by a long shot.”

“Adrien is pretty great,” Alya agreed. She took another sip, but refused to let go of the hate she had growing now for his father. She wondered if it would be possible for Rena and her flute to visit his prison cell. “I just...I hope those children get a chance to be great, too.”

Marinette sighed loudly. She reached over and grabbed Alya’s arm. “They were saved tonight. Right? Ladybug, Chat Noir…Rena...Rouge…The police. Those kids were rescued and maybe they have images of bad adults now, but they also have new images of good ones. Maybe, when they’re having one of their bad days, they can remember Ladybug’s face,” Marinette smiled softly to herself, steadying her now quivering jaw, “and they can remember there is good in the world, too.”

Alya met her eyes and blinked. And she realized...maybe Marinette was speaking from experience. After all, who had been there to stop all of those childhood-ruining akumas and Le Papillon? It had been Ladybug and Chat Noir, hadn’t it? Maybe conjuring up mental images of Ladybug didn’t signify the ‘good in the world’ to an adult Alya Césaire, but it had in the past. And surely it did still for the people they had saved.

Did Rena Rouge provide that for anyone? Rena never stuck around to help a victim...Justice was different than compassion. She probably didn’t. 

Alya drained her cup of coffee. “Should we watch a movie? I would really like to cuddle tonight.”

Marinette’s smile was warm and loving. “That sounds perfect, Alya,” she said. “Let’s watch something a little less serious.”

Laughing, Alya replied, “What, you don’t want to watch a documentary on human trafficking with me?”

“Oh, god. I was thinking  _ Les Aristochats, _ to be honest,” Marinette laughed. 

Alya grinned. She walked over and kissed the top of her girlfriend’s head. “Girl, you know I’ve got that. Let’s go.”

The girls settled on the couch, leaning on one another. Alya’s head rested on top of Marinette’s, which rested on Alya’s chest. One of Alya’s legs was thrown over Marinette’s, hands tangled together too tight, as if they couldn’t let go lest they die. Although both girls knew fluent English, it only felt right to watch the French dub from their childhoods tonight. The bright colors, simple plot, and scratchy animation fought to distract them, keep them safe, make them laugh with ridiculous jokes and silly puns. And by the end, they both felt warmer. 

Nothing could wipe away the entire night, of course. But at least they had each other.

And when the credits ended, Alya led Marinette off the couch to her full-size bed. They kissed, softly and quietly. Exploring. Asking. Alya held Marinette so softly it was like she might break, and Marinette stroked Alya, petting her gently and lovingly. Eyes asked questions that mouths didn’t bother with and soon, Alya and Marinette were kissing in just their bras. And then less than that. Tonight was gentle, soft, and slow. They stroked, held, and explored. Every hand felt like a promise,  _ I’ve got you. I’m here. You’re safe _ . Hips rubbed together and hands found hair, but nothing was urgent or pushy or rough. Not tonight. Minutes grew long and sheets became tangled as the girls found comfort together and found their confidence together.

Alya knew what she wanted. She knew what she had wanted since the first time she saw Marinette laugh and grabbed her hand out on the balcony three weeks ago. But especially tonight, she needed to know what Marinette wanted, too. For the past hour, her voice had only been used for soft moans, humms, groans, and a few yips. The only words had been nearly whispered ‘oui’, ‘ça va’, ‘souplé’, and ‘ma Marinette’. But now she had to ask. “Can I touch you tonight?” Alya asked, voice gravelling just over a whisper.

“Alya, Alya, s’il te plait,”[11] Marinette whimpered back. And she was the one to hold Alya’s hand and slowly lead it to the zipper of her pants.

The rest of the night from that point was just as soft, just as comfortable. Alya listened to Marinette’s body as well as her voice. She watched her beautiful face, she watched her body twist, she listened to her moan and gasp and groan in pleasure. And inside her body, Marinette felt as soft, warm, and tender as she felt inside her soul. Moving so gently and so tenderly, so carefully and so amateurishly, Alya didn’t explore far. She barely dipped her fingers between her, she just explored and touched, holding Marinette’s hip with her other hand and kissing her softly, slowly.

And when Marinette asked to return the favor, Alya rolled onto her back easily. She let her hair pillow around her head and listened to her own body find comfort and pleasure and tingling delight at the soft, gentle hands of her most trusted person in the world. She felt the weight of Marinette’s body, comforting like a blanket. She felt pleasure and arousal flood her body all the way to her fingertips. She closed her eyes and saw only Marinette in their warm, pink bubble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <1>chut: Shh (It's pronounced almost exactly the same, but with a bit sharper ending)  
> <2>pute: YET ANOTHER word for 'bitch'. This one is my favorite, because it also sounds like 'putain', but shorter. And if you don't remember what putain is by now...it's...Alya's favorite word.  
> <3>Hôtel Vivolée: This is a pun that sounds like "Stolen Life Hotel".  
> <4>Connard de putang: Remember, "Putang" is Marseille accent for "Putain", so this means "fucking asshole".  
> <5>con: Ass, but mainly as an insult. It's the shortened version of "connard" (asshole). You wouldn't really call someone's butt "con".  
> <6>Grace à toi: Thanks to you. The French have three ways to say "because of", one negative, one neutral, one positive. This is the positive! Chat Noir is using it a little sarcastically.  
> <7> salope: Bitch (again). This one is slutty, and the most degenerative/emasculating version (in my opinion).  
> <8>L’ame-de-chiasse: Soul of diarrhea. WHAT A COLORFUL INSULT!!  
> <9>Adieu: Goodbye forever. Literally, "until we see one another again before God". It's a very dramatic goodbye.  
> <10> Va te Faire!: Go fuck yourself  
> <11> "‘oui’, ‘ça va’, ‘souplé’, and ‘ma Marinette’..., Alya, s’il te plait,”: "'Yes', 'are you okay/i'm okay', 'please', 'Alya, please' (souplé is Creole French for please- it sounds a LOT like the regular French for please, which is s'il vous plait formally or s'il te plait informally...literally, "If it pleases you".)


	9. Party Guests

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After last chapter, we need something light. So let's GO TO A PARTY.
> 
> **Content Warning: Sexual Content** Third section, very end. And I consider it to be M this time.

Almost two weeks had passed since Rena Rouge, Ladybug, and Chat Noir had taken down the underground child trafficking ring. And yet here Rena was, on the last Tuesday of August, circling the roofs around the H ô tel  Vivolée. Everything was quiet, everything was calm. Just like it always was.

With  H ô tel  Vivolée so close to Alya’s home, it was all too easy for her to find herself casing the hotel almost every night. Sometimes, she would be exploring the area as Rena Rouge, looking for crime  _ anywhere but there _ , and when her eyes would focus, she’d realized her feet had led her right back to the same place. Again and again and again.

Alya’s article may not have been the most detailed, but it was the first to be published on the event and to journalism, that mattered almost more. But by now, no one knew the goings-on of that hotel better than she. The day after the bust, the entire block had been swarming with reporters and more police, holding back protestors and curious or angry Parisians. The next day, just a handful of professionals, who nodded politely at the curious passersby Parisians. By August 20th,  H ô tel  Vivolée was running practically business as usual...and Rena had never once spotted return customers from the fateful Friday night. 

She sat on the edge of the same roof where she and Chat had plotted with Ladybug, her claws running along the rough edges of the tin roof tiles. Rena blinked, images from that night still flashing behind her eyes, contrasted against the laughter and accordion music on the street below her. Green lights from the pharmacy nearby flashed on her face, flickering the time and begging to not be ignored.

Instead, she focused on the Parisians walking by. Most completely ignored the budget hotel. A few carefully side-stepped the A-frame advertisement for the hotel restaurant. She scanned their faces, she looked for something,  _ something _ to pin her focus on. And then, she found it. Rena’s eyes widened and her stern expression melted, tipping upwards into the smallest smile.  _ Marinette _ . It was a hot evening, fitting for Marinette’s sundress. She walked with a purpose, clutch under her arm, and smiled politely at the man playing accordian. 

Rena smiled even wider, finally giving in to look at the flashing time on the pharmacy sign. Marinette was here just in time for dinner. It looked like she’d just gotten off the metro and was on her way likely to surprise Alya at her apartment. So Rena Rouge took a flying leap over buildings, along roofs, down alleys, eventually all the way to her apartment.

She beat Marinette there by a solid 8 minutes, long enough for Alya to find some cute, suitable outfit and cute, suitable underthings underneath. Also long enough for her to set the rice-cooker and pull out her planned dinner...she couldn’t look  _ too much _ like she’d known Marinette was coming. Alya just  _ happened _ to be wearing perfume, her new black bra with matching lace panties, and be listening to their favorite playlist. All perfect coincidences for Marinette’s surprise.

And when she answered the knock at her door with a scream and a loud, “Marinette, what a surprise!”, Alya was as relieved as always that Marinette wasn’t the one who could sniff out lies.

“I missed my regular stop on the metro...and then the stop after that...” Marinette explained, dropping her bag and kissing Alya once on each cheek, “So I decided to make the best of it and drop in. I missed you today! Plus, this way I can  _ show _ you my ideas for Adrien’s birthday next Saturday. I know we didn’t have plans tonight...are you available?”

“For you? Girl, I’m always available,” Alya promised. She tapped Marinette’s nose. “And why am I not surprised you missed your metro stop, Mademoiselle?” 

“Maybe because it’s the third time I’ve done that this month,” Marinette giggled, laughing at herself. “You’re making dinner?” She walked herself into the kitchen, inspecting the chicken sizzling on the stove. 

“Just started,” Alya agreed. “I’m using another of mom’s recipe, so I hope you’re hungry!”

“I am, but I also really have to go pee,” Marinette admitted. “I’ll be right back.”

Alya laughed. “Have fun!” she joked, which Marinette returned by sticking out her tongue before running to the only private room in the studio apartment. She left Alya alone with her thoughts and Indila playing softly in the background. 

Alya flipped the chicken over and looked up at the wall behind the stove, flinching as oil splattered. The girl from room 613 flashed before her. The peeling wallpaper of  H ô tel  Vivolée, the unyielding expression of Bill, and of course, his terrorized fate. What was that girl up to? Had Bill recovered? Would he? What about all of his customers...where were  _ they _ ?

A hand on her shoulder made Alya jump, yelping as well. “Oh,” Marinette said, pulling back quickly. “Sorry, Alya! I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s nothing, I was just...my mind was somewhere else,” Alya responded. She turned around and pulled Marinette into her arms. “I would much rather have my mind right here, with you.” They kissed softly, sending thrills through Alya’s being.

“So where were you?” Marinette murmured, running a soft hand over Alya’s arms. Alya paused. She didn’t quite answer, unsure of whether she should. “Thinking of another story?”

“Kind of.” 

“What are you writing about now? Wasn’t it...the urinal thing? The female urinals?”

“Unisex urinals. Believe it or not, that’s not what has me in the west.[1] No, I, euh, was thinking about an old article from last week. Remember the story about the child prostitution ring?”

Marinette frowned and nodded. “We had a long talk about it that night. Is it still haunting you?”

Alya sighed and pulled herself out of Marinette’s grip, trying to distract herself with the chicken. This happened occasionally, when Rena would get into a particularly nasty fix. The shooting at the primary school  _ still _ gave her nightmares, as did the faces of the people who had died at her hand. Those were extremes, of course. But the victims so vile they deserve every ounce of power she had…? They would stalk her thoughts for weeks, just like this. “I should get over it, I know I should. I did my job. They’re put away, the victims are safe, and I wrote and reported. But I don’t feel...It doesn’t feel... _ settled _ .” Marinette didn’t answer immediately. So Alya continued, “There’s just a lot I don’t know and it’s annoying, you know? I’m a writer. I’m born to be curious. And I want...I  _ need _ justice. But I put it in writing. That makes my job done. The story is done. Isn’t it?”

“It’s not all done, right? I mean, they all had to go to court and receive sentences. Has that happened yet?”

Alya turned around to look at Marinette. “That wasn’t my article.”

Marinette smirked right back. “And just as likely as I am to miss my metro stop,  _ you _ don’t always get off the story where you were supposed to either, did you? You know the answer, Alya.”

Alya smirked right back. God, this woman  _ knew _ her. “The prime suspect, Bill, has been sentenced. Nine counts of sexual trafficking and forced labor. He’s got 9 charges of sexual offences against minors and 9 for human trafficking. 9 consecutive 20 year sentences...180 years. And I met with the State Prosecutor; she believes there may be more charges they could find just to really rub salt in the wound. They want to track down more of his clients before sentencing all the connards involved. So, you know, I  _ know _ that. I should be satisfied. I should be done.”

“But you’re not,” Marinette agreed. “And Alya, maybe that’s exactly it...maybe you’re not done. You’re still thinking about this. There’s more to a story than just what happened at the moment, right?  _ You _ want to know what happened to the villains and victims afterwards. Don’t you think maybe you have some readers who want to know, too?”

Alya raised an eyebrow. “You mean write a follow-up?”

“Well, why not? Alya, you are such an emotional, invested reporter. This is exactly what you would excel at! Tell the world what happened  _ after _ the story. And it can help your heart, too.” She stepped closer and took Ally’s hand, delicately playing with her fingers. “You’re thinking about those kids. I know you are. I know it would help you to visit them...and write about it, you know?”

Alya’s heart squeezed. Visit the kids? Visit the victims? Yes, Alya had visited a few of Rena’s rescued citizens before. It was always rewarding, but this was different altogether. Alya already published the story of what happened and what Rena Rouge (And the other heroes) did. She didn’t need to interview them. Visit victims just to check in…?

It sounded wonderful, honestly. Terrifyingly so. What better excuse to check on those Rena saved?

Pausing to think about it, Alya slowly started to nod. “I could probably get Lorraine on board for that. A follow-up story. For something this big, it might be worth it. Besides, my article got a lot of hits, since it was the first one...oh, but she might think it’s too self-derivitive…”

“Who cares?” Marinette said. She moved forward and grabbed Alya’s wrist. “This is for you, Alya. If it matters to you, it probably matters to someone else. And if it doesn’t, tant pis![2] Get out your curiosity. Research it! Give those children the listening ear and shoulder to cry on that they need. Find out how they are, write it up, make it into a story. Do your…” she waved a hand in the air, struggling to find a word that was both accurate and kind, “ _ daily life _ pieces while you work. You think about this enough, obviously. Why not get paid while you’re doing it? Besides, if it’s a follow-up, it doesn’t need a quick deadline.” She shrugged. “You can take your time.”

Alya’s heart pounded at the idea. It sounded  _ right _ , it sounded good, it sounded...perfect. Much more useful and informational than stalking a boring hotel for days on end. And she could check on those victims herself, instead of relying on hope and memories. If Alya the reporter couldn’t, Rena Rouge their savior always could. Yes, she could defeat the ghosts by making  _ sure _ they had moved on to better things. Alya stepped away from the chicken, closer to Marinette. She pulled on her hair-tie, releasing a wave of soft black hair from her bun so Alya could run her fingers through it. “I think that’s an excellent idea. You  _ know _ how I like to take my time.”

Marinette laughed. “Okay, from the way you’re looking at me like a piece of meat, I take it you like my idea and want to show me how much…?”

Alya chuckled. She dipped her head and pressed her lips against Marinette’s neck, kissing softly up and down. “Oh, girl, you know me well.”

Marinette’s breath hitched as Alya nipped just under her jawline. “The chicken?”

“Mmmm...Appetizers first.”

\---

The sun was just barely considering setting, painting the horizon an orange to match Rena Rouge’s suit. She darted over rooftops until she reached her destination- a rooftop leaning into a courtyard, hidden from view from the rest of the street. And at her destination, Chat Noir. 

“Well, hello, kitty!” Rena called, landing softly on her hands and feet next to her friend. 

“Rena! Look what the cat dragged in!” Chat grinned, then turned to his other side. He turned back to her, two paper-wrapped sandwiches in hand. “Tuna melt? I figured foxes love fish, right? And so do cats,” he gave a little flourish, enough to jingle his little bell, “so I thought it appropriate.”

Rena made a little noise of pleasant surprise, then took the sandwich. “I guess you were serious that you didn’t want to drink today!”

Chat laughed. He unwrapped his sandwich while shaking his head. “Oh, no. I don’t need to drink with you this afternoon. After this I’m actually going to a big party and trust me, I’ll drink enough there for the rest of the school year.” He tore a chunk out of his sandwich, chewed, then shrugged. “Or at least the month.” Waving the sandwich, Chat added, “I’m actually using this as aperitif[3] right now so this sucker can soak up some of the alcohol and my hangover isn’t as bad tomorrow.”

Rena made a funny face. “Mon gar, when did you get so old that you have your aperitif with  _ sandwiches _ ? Where’s the potato chips? Where’s the peanuts? Where’s the champagne?”

Chat flicked his tail in amusement. He sighed dramatically and put a hand out. “If you’re  _ that upset _ about getting a fish sandwich, I can always take it back…”

Holding her sandwich possessively close to her chest, Rena snarled at Chat. But she flashed him a smile as well and took her first bite. “It’s pretty good, chaton.”

“Only the best for the Mammal Crew,” Chat Noir sang out.

“But why aperitif with me? Aren’t you seeing your friends in an hour? Shouldn’t you get aperitif with them?”

Chat took another thoughtful bite. “That’s why I wanted to see you. I want to see all my friends today, and I obviously can’t invite Rena Rouge to the party. Although I would love to see you fox-trot! So this is how I make sure I see everybody I care about.” 

Rena swallowed thickly, feeling emotional. She caught his slight smile, but forced her emotion down. “You just can’t invite me to the party because I would out-fox the rest of your guests. Make them all look bad.” She winked. “Besides, Ladybug will probably be at your party, won’t she?”

“Not as Ladybug, but she will,” Chat Noir agreed with a little shrug. He winked at her, tilting his head, and explained, “You  _ may _ have guessed that we know each other outside of the suits.”

Rena chuckled and nodded. “And as I’ve said, I truly feel pawful that you have to deal with that, peuchère. So, no, I don’t think I’d want to go to that party anyway.” Even if Rena didn’t know who Ladybug was, she was pretty confident that she was just as awful outside of her mask. She would probably try and control the whole group, lecture them on proper moral behavior, and spend all night being a hypocrite. Not Alya’s idea of a good time at all. 

Especially not since she had her own party to go to afterwards for Adrien’s birthday. No, she would  _ much _ rather spend the night with Marinette, Adrien, Nino, and their friends than put up with Ladybug spoiling the night. Still, it was nice to be considered so important to Chat Noir. “So...I guess...it  _ is _ nice that we get to have our little fish sandwich aperitif. It’s nice to have someone I can hang out with. You know, as Rena Rouge.”

“Didn’t you have that in Marseille?” Chat asked. “Ladybug and I recently heard there’s a new miraculous hero there. A sheep, right?”

Rena nodded, smiling slightly. From what she’d heard, he was doing great, and she was more than proud. “Lana Nera.” 

“Right! A fox and a sheep...you two would have been a great combination. Didn’t you hang out with him?”

At that, Rena shook her head. “My kwami, Trixx, they helped me find the sheep miraculous when I turned eighteen and told me it was kind of for emergencies. They said it was dangerous if there were too many miraculi around and that there were already quite a few in circulation around the globe. That I was only to find someone worthy of holding the miraculous if I needed extra help with some extreme danger, or if an Evil miraculous holder came around...like Le Papillon, I guess? 

“Anyway, the fox and the sheep are supposed to be able to work together, according to Trixx, but we aren’t tied by fate or anything. And nothing that extreme ever happened. So I just found someone young and capable to take the mantle when I had to move out. I chose a kid I knew from work; he worked there on Wednesdays and some afternoons. Great boy. Just a year younger than I was when I found Trixx and my miraculous,” she wiggled her fox-tail zipper. “I worked with him to help train him on his abilities for about two weeks...but that was it. Besides, the kid is eleven years younger than me. It isn’t exactly the kind of relationship that you and I can have.”

Through a mouthful of tuna, Chat said, “Sure, but you could have been like Knightowl and Sparrow.”

Rena tossed her head back and laughed. “I’m not going to adopt Lana Nera. Unless you meant the Sparrow from Earth 231, in which case...I’m  _ definitely _ not going to have that kind of relationship with Lana Nera. That would be super illegal and it wasn’t even really that legal in the comic in the first place.”

Chat leaned on his knees, smirking so wide at Rena, she felt a little uncomfortable. “Wow, Renardeau. You are a comic book  _ nerd _ , aren’t you?”

“Oh, my god. You can’t try to shame me for liking superheroes  _ while _ dressed as a leather cat who has his own professional comic book series. I’ve read  _ Le Journal de Ladybug _ and all its sequels. You’re listed as a contributor!”

Chat leaned closer, now grinning toothily. “You’ve read  _ Le Journal de Ladybug _ and  _ all _ of its sequels? Even the one set in New York City? With the Doorman? The terrible crossover issue?”

Rena set down her sandwich, glaring hard at Chat. Then, she put one finger on his forehead and pushed so hard, he spun his hands around wildly and rolled almost entirely off the roof, just barely catching onto a rain gutter. “You don’t get to call me a nerd. Only I get to call me a nerd, Chat Noir.”

Pouting, Chat scampered back up to Rena. He swiped his sandwich away and took a big bite, pouting through chewing the whole time. “Excuse me for wanting you to have a cute, lovable side-kick!”

“Oh, like you’re Ladybug’s ‘cute, loveable sidekick’?”

“We are  _ partners _ , and you know it, Foxy Lady.” He ignored the way Rena sarcastically agreed, adding, “And I like to consider you our partner sometimes, too.”

Rena didn’t reply right away. She sat quietly with Chat, letting her tail flick behind her. The early autumn air was still warm and a little sticky, just like the quiet air between them. “I guess,” she cleared her throat, “I like being your partner sometimes, too.” Chat scooted closer to Rena and tilted his head all the way on its side, grinning at her. “I’ll push you off the roof again, furball. I will.”

“You’re such a softy, Renardeau.”

“Nowhere near as soft as you. I’m surprised your suit is leather and not kitten fluff, tough guy.” 

“What, like yours?” Chat asked, leaning over to ruffle the chest fur around Rena’s neck. She snapped her fangs at him, reeling Chat backwards in a giggle. And then, Rena looked straight ahead, trying to keep her jaw straight and set. She hated showing emotions as Rena Rouge, even to her stupid cat friend.

“It’s just nice to have a friend to talk to when it’s tough. And sometimes it’s easier to get things taken care of as a group. Don’t go making friendship bracelets for the three of us or anything, alright? And I still think that this…” she waved her sandwich in the air, “You know, snacks and wine? The Mammal Crew is still a closed circuit, got it, chaton? I’ll call an exterminator if you try and invite La Punaise to The Mammal Crew. She doesn’t get to hang out with us.”

Chat laughed. “You remind me of Ladybug sometimes, Rena.”

“Beurk, oh my god! Chat, how could you say that? I thought we were friends! I literally just admitted we were friends, and you say something like that?”

“No, fur real!”

“I’m fur real, too! That’s an awful thing to say to your friend!”

Chuckling through his pointed teeth, Chat shook his head. “I mean it as a compliment. I adore Ladybug; you know that.”

Rena knocked on his head playfully, agreeing, “I think you’ve caught one too many mice in the head.[4]”

“Listen. You and Ladybug are both all serious business when there’s a threat involved. She doesn’t like it when I make puns or try to joke around until the threat’s been taken care of. I mean, she has a sense of humor and all, but she’s serious when it’s time to be serious. And you’re just like that, too. Rena, you look and act like a totally different person when there’s a bad guy involved.” He shuddered. “I’m actually terrified of you sometimes.”

“You should be,” Rena said, pride in each word.

“Yeah, see? Ladybug gets all scary when someone is messing around, too. But when it’s casual and we’re not fighting anyone? You’re both a lot more relaxed. You joke with me, you drink with me, we race on roofs, you fight stupid big dogs… Ladybug’s the same.” Chat laughed nostalgically, flicking his tail. “When we were kids, we used to run around the roofs of Paris all night. She was my best friend. I mean, she still is, but before Ladybug and I revealed our identities and things...labels changed and all, Ladybug was my very best friend. Believe it or not, she can crack some pretty funny jokes when Paris isn’t trying to kill us.”

“I can’t imagine that at all,” Rena admitted, shaking her head. The stick up Ladybug’s ass was way too high up there for her to have a playful sense of humor."

“It’s true! Can you smell a lie? Am I lying, Rouge?”

Sighing, Rena shook her head. “No, you believe what you’re saying is the truth.” She rolled her eyes. “Doesn’t mean I have to believe it, though.”

Chat popped his last bite of sandwich in his mouth and wiped the crumbs off his gloves. He stretched out on the roof, then rolled onto his back. “I have a theory that you two are too similar, and  _ that’s _ why you don’t get along.” Then, he flashed a wicked grin. “That, and that you’re both just trying to hide your insatiable lust for each other through a façade of hatred.”

Rena was very,  _ very _ glad her kwami wasn’t out to hear that accusation. Trixx had noticed Rena watching Ladybug fight just a few too many times. It wasn’t her fault that Alya was attracted to strong, powerful women! It was purely aesthetic interest! “Insatiable lust? Do you not remember that I have a girlfriend? It was our one-month anniversary on Thursday and everything!”

Chat flashed a wicked grin and he said, “That’s why you have to hide the lust you feel for Ladybug!” Dramatically, Chat began to roll around, clutching his sides as he moaned, “You both feel torn and tossed by the physical feelings you have, contradicted by the emotional restrictions you’ve placed on your heart and bodies with your monogamous relationships. It’s enough to drive you to hate anyone!”

“Please, I would rip Ladybug limb from limb if I had the chance!”

Chat rolled onto his belly and slinked up to Rena, grinning madly. “I think the only limbs you want to rip are pulling her legs wide apart so you can get all up in there.”

Rena’s face was flushed with heat under her mask. Just the insinuation was enough to get her mind running a little too fast, especially now that she was finally having sex again. Especially now that she was having  _ really good _ sex again. “You  _ wish _ that was what I wanted, you horny little matau.”

Softly, Chat gasped and grinned. “That isn’t denying! You do! You do think she’s hot!”

“‘Hot’ doesn’t mean I would ever,  _ ever _ want to let her touch my body. She can keep her buggy fingers and creepy antennas away from all of this Caribbean goodness. There’s only one girl I’m letting ride the Rena Rouge wave.”

Chat sang out, “But you think Ladybug is  _ hot _ !”

Rena sighed dramatically. God, Chat could have a one-track mind. “I’m taken, not blind. Ladybug is a gay woman’s wet-dream and probably helped a  _ lot _ of us come out to ourselves,” Rena argued, waving her hand around. “I mean, you and I were probably equally in love with her when we were in collѐge. Except that you actually screwed up all your chances to date her back then and I know better than to want that now.”

Chat sat up straight again, crossing his arms. “Excuse you, I didn’t screw up  _ all _ my chances to date her.”

“Oh, and you’re single right now because…?”

Chat pulled out his baton and poked Rena in the chest, then blasted it out to launching her back three meters. Rena laughed as she flew, rolling backwards when she landed. From a distance, Chat shouted, “You’re a chienne.[4]”

Rena stood up, wagged her tail and flicked her ears, then looked down at herself as if for the first time. “Yep, looks like you’re absolutely right. I’m a chienne and a vixen and I’m fucking sexy, too.” On all fours, she sauntered back over to Chat, smirking the entire way. Then put out a hand to lift him up. “Hey. Our hour’s going to be up soon...want to race before you go see all your less-cool friends?”

Chat stood up, spun his baton, and nodded. “Absolutely!”

Grinning, Rena nodded back. “Good. So I’m thinking from here to Place de Vosges. Last one there buys drinks next time.”

Chat was already stretching when suddenly his tail went stick-straight. “Oh! Before we go, I was supposed to ask you something! It’s September!”

“...Is that a question, Chat Noir?”

Chat laughed. “No, I just mean...It’s September, school is in session...Ladybug and I typically take a few days off at the start of the school year to visit schools in Paris. We actually know the directrice at one of them, so we started as a personal favor, but now it’s this whole thing. They get all the kids together and we talk to the whole school about bullying and being heroes for each other. Usually just Primary schools. Sometimes a collѐge or two.”

As Chat spoke, Rena’s memories started to turn. She saw herself standing before a group of Marseille children. She remembered sharing smiles, even hugging a few. She remembered the sounds of cocking guns. “And...you want me to join you?” Rena asked, standing straighter. She remembered the screams of children and chaperones, the running feet, the crying, the panic.

“Yeah!” Chat grinned. “They’d love it. Especially the kids from the South, you know? And kids recognize you now, so I think-”

“I don’t visit kids,” Rena answered immediately. 

Chat’s ears perked at her shift in tone. “O-oh. Not at all?”

“Not at all.”

Disappointed, his ears flicked back a bit and he asked, “But I thought you really liked kids? I mean, that kidnapped girl, the trafficking victims…”

“I  _ do  _ like kids. That’s why I don’t visit them,” Rena answered. Chat narrowed his eyes and tilted his head, clearly confused. She sighed and explained, “It’s not safe. I have a target on my back, Chat. I’m a dangerous person. It’s not safe for me to bring that target around children intentionally. I have... _ one _ exception, and it’s never public.”

“Who? Who is your one exception?”

Rena narrowed her eyes, doing everything she could to continue to protect her favorite damsel. “It’s  _ never _ public.”

“Oh, come on. Not even to your old Chaton?”

Rena crossed her arms and snarled. “Nobody. Who knows when you’re getting...mind-controlled again, Chat Noir.”

“Please, that hasn’t happened in three years.”

Rena scoffed. “Much too recent for me. No, I never meet kids in public and no one gets any exceptional public treatment.”

“You don’t think anyone would actually try anything, do you?”

“They have tried something. And yes, I think it would happen again.” Rena shook her head. “I don’t visit kids as Rena Rouge. Period. Public appearances...that’s your thing, not mine.”

“I know, I just thought you might make an exception,” Chat sighed. Rena didn’t answer. She was already holding her tongue, keeping in all her remarks about how dangerous it was that they showed up to public gatherings all the time as it was. She didn’t say how it made them look more like public figures and attention hogs than actual heroes. She didn’t say how it put the kids’ lifes on the line just so they could act like they were meeting Mickey Mouse at Disneyland. “Alright, it’s fine. But hey, if you change your mind, I’ll let you know when and where we’re going to schools.”

“Fine. Deal. Now, are you ready to have your ass kicked in this race?” Rena stretched again, then shook out her thick hair.

Chat grinned and lowered himself into running position. “I’m already planning my shopping list for you, Rouge.”

“On three?” Rena asked. Chat nodded. Together, they counted “One...two...three!” and sprinted across the rooftop, leaping into the sky.

\---

After having lost in the race against Chat Noir to the Place de Vosges (although only because he cheated, she was  _ sure _ ), Rena slipped into the park and found a place to transform back into Alya. She definitely chose this as the finish line for the race on purpose. Confident no one had seen her, Alya strolled through the park, past the fountain, and to the Boulangerie-Patisserie T&S nearly next door. Tom and Sabine were closing up for the day, a polite little  _ Fermé  _ [6]sign posted, but they were visible just behind it, sweeping and cleaning up shop. So Alya knocked and waved.

Tom shuffled over to the door and opened it wide, pulling Alya in for a quick hug. “Alya! Our favorite ice cream girl! Good to see you. Marinette’s in the house; she’ll be down in a second.” He shut the door behind them and waved to a chair. As he waved, Alya noticed that Tom and Sabine had posted framed versions of the four ads featuring Marinette’s designs, currently running in fashion magazines around the world. And right below sat their stack of ‘Le Parisien’ papers. Tom slapped her shoulder pleasantly, urging, “Have a seat!”

“No, Monsieur, I’d love to help you if I can! Anything you need put away? Cleaned up?”

“You’re so sweet,” Sabine gushed. “Here. I’ll toss you a rag- could you wipe off the window counter?” One hand still on her broom, she found a suitable rag and threw it in the air for Alya to catch. Tom looked over at his wife and chuckled. “What? Tom, what is it?”

“You don’t normally make Marinette’s dates work for us, ma bichette.”

“Alya isn’t just a  _ date _ ,” Sabine scoffed. She looked over at Alya adoringly, adding, “Are you, dear?” Then she looked back at Tom. “Alya and Marinette just click, and you know it.”

Grinning, Alya said, “Thank you, Madame. I think so, too.”

Sabine continued to sweep and continued, “And if she’s going to be family one day, she’s going to have to work like family.”

Alya was very grateful she was facing the window at the moment, feeling incredibly hot and embarrassed. She was shaking, but damn it, Alya had a reputation to keep. “I’ll work like family as long as I get free breakfast like family, Madame,” she shot back. Sabine laughed, Tom laughed, and Alya sighed in relief, then flashed them both a grin.

The door from the house creaked as Marinette stepped through, looking absolutely like a dream in a green dress with little lemons patterned across it. “Oh, Alya! When did you get here?”

Alya spun all the way around and leaned backwards on the window counter. “Hey, girl! Just barely.”

“And what are you doing?” Marinette asked, eyeing the rag in Alya’s hand. “Maman, you’re not making my girlfriend work, are you?”

Tom walked over to Marinette and squeezed her, saying, “Alya’s just practicing for when she’s our daughter-in-law, mon poussin!”

“ _ Papa! _ ” Marinette shrieked. Her face went bright red and she smacked her dad in the belly, then looked at Alya in terror. “Alya, please don’t tell me they were teasing you about that!”

“Marinette, I’m a big girl. I can take a joke,” Alya said, shrugging.

Sabine smiled softly at Marinette. “Besides, mon cœr. It’s not like we told her that  _ you _ said you wanted her to be in the family one day.” Sabine had her back to Alya, but from the facial expression Marinette had at that comment, she could only guess the sort of shit-eating grin her mother was wearing right then.

“I didn’t- I didn’t- I haven’t- ….Alya! I’ve never said anything at all like that!” Marinette shrieked out, eyes wide. And Marinette stank of a lie.

Alya had to turn around back to the counter to hide her grin. Yes, it had only been a month. No, neither of them had said ‘I love you’. It wasn’t like they were talking to  _ each other _ about long, long term commitments yet. But the idea that Marinette was even thinking about Alya like that made her toes curl against her sandals and made her butt wiggle just a bit. She finished wiping the counter and the smile off her face. Then she turned around and said, “Well, girl, maybe we should head out to the Quays[7] before either of us dig a bigger hole with your parents.”

Marinette’s face was still red as she rushed over to Alya’s side. “Good idea, ma jolie.”

Sabine stopped them before Marinette could drag Alya away. “Oh! Girls! Before you go, I have Adrien’s birthday present...Tom? Where did you put his present? No, not the cake...yes, we need to give them the cake too, but I mean the present...ah, yes! Thank you!” With Tom standing just behind, holding a giant cake box, Sabine handed a much smaller box to Alya, then topped it with the two pastries. She put a hand on Alya’s shoulder but looked at Marinette as she said, “Make sure you tell him that Maman Cheng and Papa Dupain said ‘Happy Birthday’, and that he is our very favorite son. Give him a big hug and two great, big, bisous. Okay? And remind him that you two are coming over for his birthday dinner on Sunday!”

“Okay, Maman,” Marinette agreed. Tom dropped the heavy cake box into Marinette’s arms, who accepted with a grunt. 

Sabine looked at the two of them thoughtfully. “You know, Marinette, if you  _ did _ marry Alya-”

“ _ MAMAN!” _

“I’m just saying! If you did, Adrien will always be our favorite son! He wouldn’t have a brother-in-law to compete with!”

Alya smirked as Marinette pouted angrily at her parents. “Maman, it has been literally  _ one month _ . You’re going to scare Alya away!”

Nudging her girlfriend with her shoulder, Alya muttered, “Girl, they can tease all they want. I’m getting free breakfast out of dating you. I don’t mind.”

“See, Marinette?” Tom boomed. “ _ Priorities _ . Alya has them! Now, have a good night, girls. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do! And don’t let Alix jump in the river again this year!”

Marinette pushed the door open, leading the way with her enormous box of cake. Once it shut and they were on their way to the Seine, Marinette sighed. “I’m sorry my parents are...well, my parents.”

“Don’t apologize, girl. They’re hilarious. They’re parents!  _ My _ dad is the kind that would threaten to sic a panther on a boyfriend, or shoot him with a tranquilizer gun. I think I like their sense of humor better.”

“Oh, god. Do you think your Dad would do that to me? I mean, I still haven’t met them, even over video.”

Alya leaned over and kissed Marinette’s cheek. “You? Naw, girl. You are way too cute and innocent for threats like that. Even my Papa would be able to see that. Besides, he’s all bark and no bite.” 

They continued their light, easy banter all the way down the street, to the stairs by the edge of the Seine, and down to the Quay. The girls followed the pumping bass of Nino’s music until they found a group of people their age, talking and laughing, whooping and lifting glasses and bottles. A few were dancing to the music, right next to the water’s edge and in front of a bridge, framing the image. There were a few picnic baskets laid out and two portable tables as well as a handful of portable chairs. A familiar, shorter, plumper white girl with multi-colored hair cut in a cute undercut was the first to notice them. “Marinette! Hey!”

“Cou-cou, Mylène!” Marinette called back. She set the box on the empty table and Mylène jogged over, helping Marinette lift off the lid. They revealed a beautiful cake, coated in smooth frosting, topped with fruit, colored chocolate, and swirls of candied decorations. The numbers ‘25’ were written in a thin, curling red jelly in the middle.

“Wow, your parents did a great job this year.”

“You know how they spoil Adrien,” Marinette agreed. “Mylène, this is my girlfriend, Alya. She went to collѐge with Nino!”

Alya gasped politely. “Actually, I’ve met Mylène!”

Mylène’s eyes widened, then lit up in a smile. “Oh, my god, that’s right! You’re the girl from Le Parisien who interviewed my family about Papa being a mime! Ooh, he was so excited about that interview. Everyone’s been wanting to talk to just Maman since the election. You made my Papa’s day.” Mylène’s wide, earnest smile and the way she hopped in place seemed to show that it made  _ her _ day, too.

“I’m so glad,” Alya said, laughing lightly. “Your dad’s a great guy. And so is Your Maman The Mayor, of course.” The two giggled, then pulled each other in for a polite bisou next to each cheek. “Nice to see you again, Mylène.”

“You, too! What article are you working on right now?”

“I just submitted a story for tomorrow’s paper on the new voting initiative. You’ll have to read it in the morning. And long term, I’m doing a follow-up on a past article I did.”

Marinette lit up, gripping Alya’s arm tightly. “She’s doing so well with it, too. It’s on that terrible child trafficking bust from mid August.”

Mylène frowned. “Oh, yes, I remember hearing about that. Make sure you talk to my Maman...she’s been working hard to clean up after that mess. I’ll let her know you’re writing on it!”

“Thank you, Mylène,” Alya gushed, putting a hand to her chest in sincerity. 

“On a lighter note, you’ve got to meet my husband, Ivan. He’s studying environmental law! Long hours, lots of work, so I’m glad he’s here tonight. He is over there, dancing next to Nino’s stand. He’s...oh, he’s calling me over. It was nice to see you- let’s chat!” Mylène said a polite goodbye and rushed off to her husband, who picked her up in a swinging jump.

Marinette stepped back next to Alya and put her arm around Alya’s waist, now pointing out everyone else. “You know Nino and Kiki, of course. Like Mylène said, that’s Ivan. Adrien and I met them in collège. Actually, most of the people here are from our collège class! Let’s see...there’s Max and Kim sitting over there with Kim’s wife; they were in Nino’s wedding. And Alix, you said you remember her?” 

Alya laughed. “Yeah, I remember Alix.”

“There’s Nathanael and his husband, Marc. Marc wasn’t in our class, but he was in Art club with me. He and Nathanael wrote and illustrated  _ Le Journal de Ladybug _ , so you’ll have to ask them about that.”

“No way! Really?”

Marinette grinned in pride and nodded. “And a few other comic books. You three would hit it off, I’m sure. Let’s see...oh! Over there, talking to Adrien? That’s Rose and Juleka. They started dating in collège, just like Mylène and Ivan.”

Rose and Juleka looked like the perfect Goth/Fairy lesbian marriage. It made Alya grin a little to see them with everyone else, one girl dressed in black lace and purple leather, the other wearing a pink linen dress and the cutest blonde pixie-cut. “Oh, Nino’s told me about them. They’re married, right?”

“For the past five years, yep! There’s a few people from Adrien’s work...one or two from University...oh, and Chloé Bourgeois, the fashion critic, with her current arm-candy. She’s Adrien’s oldest friend, actually. Their parents were friends. Rich and powerful and all of that.”

“Yeah, I know who Chloé Bourgeois is. Even as a girl who doesn’t like fashion, I know who she is.” Alya glanced over at the blonde woman in question, far more overdressed than anyone else there, including Adrien, in her black and white jumpsuit with an expensive-looking yellow blazer. She was dripping in jewels and wore very impractical shoes, considering the party’s location, and had a just slightly less pretty blonde woman hanging all over her. “She’s gay, right?”

Marinette threw her head back and laughed. “Oh, my god. I can’t believe that was your  _ first  _ question about her. Yes, she is,” Marinette giggled. “You didn’t want to ask about any of the other rumors about her?”

Alya looked back at Marinette, smirking. “Let’s be real, Marinette. Do any other rumors really matter?” They laughed together. Marinette may have been about to say something else, but when Alya looked back over at Chloé, she gasped. “Wait, the redhead next to her! I know her!”

“Sabrina?” Marinette asked, surprised.

“She works for Madame Nguyen! Karen Nguyen, at Le Parisien!”

“The Editor in Chief? Oh, is she her assistant?”

“Yes! I’ve emailed her so many times. She’s really efficient, but she can get scary when I’m on a deadline.”

Marinette hummed in amusement. “Good for her. I’m not really surprised...she, uh, had a lot of experience in that kind of role when we were younger. That’s everyone from collège.”

Alya clicked her tongue in surprise. “That’s a  _ lot _ of people, Marinette. I only have two friends from collège still. Nino, and my girl Victoria back in Marseille. How did you all do it?”

“Well, collège was when all the akumas were the worst. You really cling to the people you know when some supervillain is putting your life at risk on a weekly basis.” They both looked over at Adrien without necessarily meaning to. He was smiling and laughing, no thought of how his father had forced these people together for moral support on his mind. And once again, Alya realized how influential those akumas were to these Parisians and how she would never know what that felt like. Was being targeted by your possessed friends worse than the things she saw and did as Rena Rouge? Was it easier, knowing it would all get cleaned up in one magical Ladybug explosion?

Marinette continued her explanation. “Once we got to lyc é e, our BAC tracks were different, of course. I was in the  économique et sociale track with Mylene, Juleka, Kim, and Nino. Adrien was in the Scientifique track with Max, Nathanael, Sabrina, and a few of the people here. And Chloé, Rose, Marc, and Ivan were in the  littéraire track.” [8]

“That was what I took,” Alya said.

“I’m not surprised,” Marinette said with a nod. “But we were all in the same homeroom. Adrien’s father’s assistant actually arranged for that. Same homeroom with the same homeroom teacher the whole time.”

“Well, that’s convenient,” Alya chuckled.

“It was!” Marinette agreed with a laugh. “Come on, let’s go give this to Adrien,” she said, poking her parents’ gift that still sat in Alya’s hand.

They made their way through the crowd slowly, as everyone seemed absolutely delighted to meet Alya and see Marinette and insistent that they each get a glass of something to drink. It made Alya proud to see how beloved her girlfriend was, and a little bit humbled to see how quickly these lifelong friends welcomed her. Eventually, they reached Adrien, standing with Chloé and her doppleganger of a date.

“Happy Birthday, Adrien!” Alya called, grabbing him for a hug and bisou, plus a slap on the back. 

“Thanks, Alya,” Adrien replied, grinning wide. He looked in his element. Confident, comfortable, and surrounded by people who loved him. “And I’m glad to see you working through month two! She wouldn’t shut up about you this morning.”

“Adrien!” Marinette chastised, turning a pretty pink. “We get enough teasing from Maman et Papa!”

“Oh, speaking of which, these are from them,” Alya said, thrusting the small box in his hand.

Marinette leaned over to give Adrien an extremely tight hug, then gave him four bisous- two on each side. “Those were also from Maman et Papa. Maman said to say that ‘Maman Cheng and Papa Dupain said ‘Happy Birthday’, and you’re their favorite son. Also, they’re still planning on Sunday birthday dinner at their place.”

Adrien laughed, already picking at the bow on his box. “They’re so awesome. Thanks, Marinette. Thanks, Alya.” He opened the box and laughed harder, lifting the tie inside for his friends to see. The tie was dark blue and covered in multicolored atom particles, test tubes, and laboratory flasks. “Oh, my god. I love it.”

Chloé leaned over to look and gasped in horror. “Good god, Adrien. You’re not going to actually  _ wear _ that, are you? You’re a  _ model _ ; you know better.”

Adrien was already putting the tie on over his casual party clothes. “I’m not a model anymore, Chlo é ! I’m a Science teacher. And this is absolutely what a science teacher should wear.” He turned back to Marinette and Alya, using his hands to frame the tie. “Well? How do I look?”

Marinette was the one to answer. “ _ Radiant _ . Carefree.  _ Dreamy _ .”

Adrien dipped his head back and laughed, Alya just smiling at what she assumed was an inside joke. “Hey, Adrien,” she said, once he stopped laughing. “This is a great place for a party. Good turnout, good music...it looks great!”

Chloé scoffed and crossed her arms. “It would be better if Mayor Haprèle would have extended the Plages de Paris for another week for my Adrichou’s birthday, like  _ my  _ Daddy used to.”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “Chloé, Mylène’s maman doesn’t use her political power for personal gain.”

“Well, she should. It made everything so much more fun for my friends,” Chloé argued. “Speaking of which, you haven’t introduced Chantelle and I to your new friend, Marinette.” Chloé stuck her hand out limply, as if expecting Alya to kiss it. Alya looked at the hand with a raised eyebrow, piecing together all she had heard about the young aristocrat. The last name certainly fit.

Alya gripped the hand and shook it firmly. “I’m Alya Césaire, writer for Le Parisien and Marinette is my girlfriend. Adrien’s my pote[9] , too.”

“Charming,” Chloé seethed.

But Sabrina perked up at the mention of Le Parisien, darting around Chloé’s other side to greet Alya. “Oh, hey! I know you! You’re Madame’s go-to writer for Rena Rouge stories! Small world!"

“Yeah, it is,” Alya agreed with a laugh. She pulled Sabrina in for a bisou, reeling a little at seeing the physical manifestation of her ultimate superior here, on the banks of the Seine, with a glass of cheap wine in her hand and surrounded by other people their age. Sabrina was supposed to be the one hounding her for her article or sending messages to Lorraine over Alya’s head. Not giving her bisous with alcohol on her breath.

And then, Alya was rammed into by an incredibly fast, hard force. She snapped into an attack mode, whirling around and grabbing the thing that hit her, but recognized a face before she could punch any attacker. Besides; Alix had already grabbed Alya’s fist in anticipation. “Alya! You’ve still got those crazy reflexes, hey!” Alya released Alix, who backed up to give her a high-five. “Come on, let’s get a drink. You come too, Marinette. I want to hear about you two!”

Alix grabbed Marinette and Alya’s wrists, then flashed a wicked grin at the trio of blondes and Sabrina that they left behind. “Don’t worry, I’m not stealing them forever.” She pulled the girls away and to the drinks, pouring them both a glass of punch. She skated backwards until Alix hit a bench, the pulled herself up and gestured for Marinette and Alya to join. “So, Alya. How much of me do you remember?” Her grin was wide and infectious.

“Girl, you’re one of the only things I  _ do _ remember from that wedding.”

Alix nodded, swigging her punch. She let out a loud, satisfied sigh. “It was  _ insane _ . I really have never seen Max that drunk. Kim, I’ve seen drunk. Adrien, I’ve seen drunk. Nath? He’s my best friend- I’m normally the one who gets him drunk. But  _ damn _ . Swimming in the fountain, streaking down the street, photobombing all the tourists…” Alix cackled. “Thankfully, not at the same time as the streaking. And you were right there with everyone the whole time!”

“Didn’t you spray paint a giant Nino on...something?”

“A dumpster, yeah.” Alix grinned. “It made Nino cry. And then Adrien started to cry because Nino was crying. Oh, and didn’t Nino cry after Adrien kissed him, too?”

“He  _ did _ ? They  _ kissed _ ?” Alya asked, eyes wide. She definitely didn’t remember  _ that _ part.

Marinette started to laugh. “Oh, my god. I remember when you told Adrien that they kissed, Alix. I was right there...Adrien got so mad!”

Alya looked at Marinette. “Mad that he kissed Nino?”

“No!” Marinette laughed again, wiping a tear out of her eye. “Mad that he didn’t remember it! He said,” she laughed again, “He said he keeps missing all his important first kisses.”

Alya had a lot of thoughts about that. Affectionate pride, that Adrien considered Nino an important first kiss. Amusement, that Adrien had such crappy luck. Surprise, that the kiss had happened and at Adrien’s reaction to it. A little bit of hurt soaked in curiosity, that Nino hadn’t mentioned the kiss or his feelings about it...and curiosity about what Marinette just said. “What other first kisses did he miss?”

“Ours!” Marinette laughed. “Honestly, I didn’t count it as our first kiss, I didn’t even know he…” she shook her head, still giggling as the sentence died on her lips. “I didn’t count it and neither should he. But he was  _ so mad _ for  _ years _ that he missed it…”

Alix looked at Marinette in surprise. “When the hell was this? I thought your first kiss was this big, unforgettable, dramatic moment!”

“The one I count was,” Marinette explained. She waved her hand, saying, “The one he doesn’t remember was an akuma thing.”

“Oh.” Alix nodded, understanding. “Zombizou?”

“One of those kissing, love-based akumas, yeah.” Marinette replied, shrugging. She giggled again, shaking her head before turning back to Alya. “I swear, he has the  _ worst _ luck with this stuff. I really wouldn’t be surprised if he gets blackout drunk again with his new drinking buddy and something happens with her. I would be grossed out, but I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“I’m still reeling that he kissed  _ Nino _ ,” Alya laughed. “I would have thought Nino would tell me!”

Alix barked out a laugh. “Dude, I’m not surprised! He cried for almost an hour after that kiss. Crying about lycée, and marriage, and Adrien, and Adrien’s lips. And everything else, because Nino  _ cries _ when he drinks. I think that’s why he DJ’s at Adrien’s parties. So they don’t kiss and he doesn’t cry again!”

Marinette’s eyes lit up in amusement. “Adrien really is very, um, affectionate when he’s drunk.”

Alix nodded and poured herself more of her drink. “You know I love all my bisexual friends, but you’re really all disasters. Alya, you have joined the most fuckin’ incestuous friend group. You and Kiki, god bless you both for putting up with these messes.” She gestured to Marinette with the last word, who just giggled as if it was the funniest accusation she’d heard.

It looked like the punch was making Marinette just a little more giggly than usual. Drunk Marinette was fun, giggly, and a little more affectionate herself. Alya grinned, swigging more of her own glass.

It wasn’t fair to claim that memories were flooding back to Alya. The party had been two years prior and she hadn’t remembered much the day after, let alone now. But reminiscing with Alix while the three of them drank their punch was certainly enjoyable. She could hold hands with Marinette and Marinette would interject, or laugh and not stop laughing, or when Alix and Marinette talked, Alya would add her own thoughts. Alix was easy to talk to. She seemed confident and comfortable and Alya immediately liked her.

“Good turnout for his party this year,” Alix added, gesturing to the group. People were getting comfortable dancing and laughing, old friends and new friends fitting in easily. “Marinette, you threw another great one.”

Marinette beamed at the praise and sat a little taller. “Well, thank you, Alix.”

Alix leaned over to Alya. “I’m sure she told you she throws this teuf[10] every year, right? Ev-er-y year. This is her ninth birthday party she’s thrown for Adrien.” 

“Now, that’s not true. Nino threw it one year,” Marinette argued.

Alix scoffed. “Yeah, because you were hallucinating in bed after getting your wisdom teeth removed. Marinette, that doesn’t count and you know it.” She elbowed Alya, far harder than most people did. “Alya, girl. You may be Marinette’s girlfriend, but she will  _ always _ be Adrien’s wife.”

Before Marinette could argue, Alya already found herself a comeback. “That’s fine with me,” she said with a shrug. “We can share.”

Alix threw her head back and laughed while Marinette started to choke on her drink. “I like her, Dupain-Cheng! I like her! You can stay.” She slapped Alya hard on the back, still grinning, Marinette still choking.

“I’m glad we have your approval, Alix,” Marinette said, eyes still a little wide from Alya’s joke.

“Yeah, my approval is about one of the more important people you gotta get,” Alix bragged. “After her parents, I mean. They try to adopt you yet, Alya?”

Alya nodded. “Sabine tried to set us up before we even met, actually. So she’s been on board for a long time.”

Marinette started to laugh and giggle again. “God, my mother. She  _ adores _ Alya.”

“Hey, you say that like it’s a bad thing!” Alix said. “Your mom is the coolest. Alya, she heard that there’s this joke that asexual people really like cake, right? So she and Tom go and make me a giant fuckin’ ace flag cake. Just ‘cause. I mean, the joke is old and tired, but she doesn’t know that. She’s a good damn person.” Alix patted Marinette’s head, cooing, “That must be where you get it from, Marinette.”

“She’s nicer than I am for sure,” Alya said, squeezing Marinette’s leg. 

“Don’t be silly, Alya,” Marinette countered. “You are amazing. You are so sweet and uplifting and funny. You’re very nice!”

Alya chuckled. She leaned over to press a kiss to Marinette’s cheek and said, “Sure, to the people I already like. You’re just lucky we had a good first impression. You don’t want to be on my bad side.”

Marinette raised an eyebrow, smile quirking up on just one side. She giggled a little, but quieter than earlier. “Oh, really? And what would you do if I was on your bad side?”

Something in that smile made Alya quake a little. She grinned wickedly and turned her body to face Marinette, one hand going on her knee. “Well, let’s see. First, I would make sure you knew exactly how I felt. I don’t beat around the bush.” She thought of choice words or things she would say to someone she didn’t like. Words like  _ punaise _ .

“And if I didn’t like you back?” Marinette asked, her voice growing lower and eyes darkening.

“Oh, I’d rather you didn’t,” Alya growled. A shadow passed down over Marinette’s face, just under her bangs and covering the area around her eyes. It was all too easy to imagine someone Alya actually, truly, disliked. “If you don’t like me either, I have all the more reason to show you just how right I am and just how much power I can have over you.”

Marinette raised her entire body, now nearly nose-to-nose with Alya. She looked her face over, settling on her lips, and asked, “Oh, you think you’d have power over me, do you? And how would we know that?”

“I’d make sure you knew I was the better of us both. The...one...on _top_.”

Marinette snorted and rolled her eyes, denying, “Alya, you are  _ so _ not the top.” And her negging made Alya growl and lean in closer. There was an energy, something she desperately needed to get out of her system, something, or someone, that all this negative talk triggered in Alya. 

Alix stood up suddenly, shouting, “Alright, then! Let’s get you two a room, or some water, or some condoms, or something. But I’m not going to join this threesome." She continued to complain as Alya snapped out of her lustful haze and followed her eyes towards Alix. "Here, I know who can fill in for me. Adrien!” She skated off, calling for Adrien, who turned and grinned, waving innocently.

Alya fell back to her position on the bench, laughing to hide her embarrassment. “Oh, god, I almost jumped you right here on the Quays, in front of all your friends,” Alya muttered, running her hands through her curls.

“Oh, merde, Adrien is actually coming over now, Alya. Alya!”

Alya squealed and giggled, grabbing Marinette’s hand and pulling her upright. “Here, let’s talk to Nino and Kiki instead.”

Marinette laughed, letting Alya pull her up. They pushed into the crowd, passing Adrien. “Hey, birthday boy,” Alya barked as they rushed past, ruffling his hair and leaving a very confused host behind. 

They didn’t need to leave Adrien in the dust. Nino wasn’t any better, or less attractive, of a man to talk to. But something about the silliness, the giggle in Marinette’s voice, the running along the bank of the Seine as close to the edge as they could manage, was too fun and too thrilling to ignore. It helped distract her from the pounding in her lower half, helped push it aside for a little while longer.

The girls ended up nearly breathless at the DJ booth, where Kiki sat with a sandwich, chatting with Juleka as Nino spun records. “Hi Nino, Hi Kiki,” they exhaled, leaning on the DJ booth and laughing as they caught their breath.

Nino looked up. His dreads hung loose under his signature red hat, his tattoo sleeve snaked out of his shirt down to his hands, which spun. “Hey, girls.” he said.

Kiki spun at their names, lighting up and rushing over. “Marinette, hey! Alya! Girl! Hey, provincienne!”[11]

Alya laughed, pulling Kiki in for a hug. “Hey, you Parigot![12] How you been, girl?”

“Pouah, I am  _ tired _ , Alya. I’ve been working 12 hour shifts all week. Nino has been an angel, keeping the house together, but shit! I am not loving the new normal!”

“Ooh, I bet,” Alya laughed. She smiled wide at Kiki. Alya loved Adrien, Marinette, and all their friends. She really did. But there was something a little more comforting about talking to Kiki. She was someone she’d met, had dinner with, and knew outside of her girlfriend. “But you’re saving lives. And that’s worth the stress, right?”

“That’s what we tell ourselves,” Kiki said with a laugh. “How’s your job been going?”

“Pretty good, actually,” Alya said.

Nino joined in, agreeing, “Kiki, remember all those articles I told you about? The Rena Rouge ones?”

“Oh, yes, your Fox Lady,” Kiki teased, grinning over at Nino. “She was your Ladybug in Marseille, right?” Kiki looked over at Marinette, explaining, “Nino grew up in Marseille where Rena Rouge- that new fox superhero who showed up this summer?- she was their hero the last year Nino lived there. So he’s just  _ obsessed _ with her. I think it helps him feel connected to his Provencal roots, you know?”

Marinette looked stiff when she replied, “Yes, I’m familiar with Rena Rouge.” Alya tried to understand her stiff answer. Her hesitance. 

But she didn’t get a chance to analyze, because Nino said, “Yeah, so Alya’s writing all those amazing Rena Rouge articles. A bunch of other ones, too. She interviewed the new Mayor’s family, she wrote about that scandal with the waste disposal company...we’re super proud of you, Alya.”

Alya stood a little taller, knowing fully well that she had Nino, Kiki, and Marinette’s eyes all on her. “I’m super proud of me, too.” They all laughed.

Kiki waved her hand to add, “Oh, but girl. For real, if you ever interview Rena Rouge, you have to let Nino know. He would die.”

Rolling her eyes, Marinette added, “Him and Adrien both.”

But wait. What Nino had said about Adrien didn’t line up with that at all. If he’d changed his mind and started liking Rena Rouge, that would make him even cooler than he already was, but it didn’t seem right. She turned to Marinette, confused, and asked, “I thought Adrien was obsessed with Ladybug?”

Marinette sniggered. Apparently, that was another of their inside jokes. “Oh, he is, sure. But he really, really likes Rena Rouge, too.” She sighed dramatically, casting a disappointed glance in his direction. “Too much, if you ask me.”

“Huh. It just doesn’t seem like you could really like Rena Rouge  _ and _ Ladybug,” Alya muttered. It felt wrong.

Marinette, though, seemed to love that answer. She turned back towards Alya, brightened, grinned, and nodded. “I agree! You can’t like both!”

Kiki frowned at the girls. “Now, why not? Can’t we have two strong, powerful female superheroes in Paris and like both of them? I don’t see either of you saying we can’t like Chat Noir.”

“Oh, Kiki, girl,  this isn’t an anti-feminist thing,” Alya insisted. “It’s specifically a Rena Rouge and Ladybug thing. They’re just...so different. It doesn’t make sense to like both.”

Nodding, Marinette agreed. “They have such differ styles and even reasons for what they do. If you support Ladybug’s style, I just don’t see how you could also like Rena Rouge’s.”

Alya turned to Marinette, smirking. “My girl, there is a reason why I like you so much and this is one of them. You so smart.”

Marinette giggled, lightly smacking away Alya’s hand, while Kiki scoffed. “Girls, that’s ridiculous! So what if they have different reasons? They get shit done, right? And I like a strong, powerful woman who gets shit done and helps protect my city. I like that they’re different! It gives us  _ different _ girls to look up to. Shows us we don’t all have to be a Ladybug-type to succeed.”

Alya crossed her arms and pouted. How was she supposed to argue against that?  _ Actually, you shouldn’t like both of them because Rena Rouge says so. She doesn’t want any of Ladybug’s fans. _ So Kiki just continued, “I love it when they work together. It gives us good examples of teamwork and female friendship.”

Both Marinette and Alya recoiled. “Female friendship?!”

Kiki looked surprised at their reaction and even Nino’s eyebrows raised. “Why not?”

Marinette sputtered out, “They’re not friends!”

Alya, continuing to feel such pride for her girlfriend, agreed. “Rena Rouge and Ladybug can’t stand one another!”

“But they work together,” Kiki argued back. “And from what the articles and eye witnesses have said, they get a lot of good done together with Chat Noir.”

Alya, having written several of the articles herself, shook her head. “The articles also mention how Ladybug complains about Rena Rouge to the police, how they’ve been spotted arguing before and after successful saves, and that Rena Rouge has never been spotted in a non-emergency with Ladybug. Just because they work together doesn’t mean they get along. Do  _ you _ like everyone at your hospital? But you work together to save lives, don’t you?”

Nino leaned over his table, clearly confident the music would be just fine while he inserted himself deeper into the conversation. “I get what you’re saying, Kiki, but I also know Rena Rouge. Frankly, I’m surprised she works with Ladybug and Chat Noir at all. Rena Rouge is a lone wolf. Lone fox, I mean. And that’s not Ladybug’s style! Ladybug’s a total extrovert. She saves Paris because she’s  _ part _ of Paris, you know? Ladybug has shown up at little kids’ birthday parties. That isn’t Rena Rouge at all. If Rena Rouge shows up at your birthday party, you just know somebody’s gonna die.”

Alya laughed. Marinette was giggling, too.

Kiki turned to her husband, one hand on her hip. “Then maybe that’s why they  _ should _ work together. Maybe Rena Rouge could inspire a little more privacy for Ladybug, and Ladybug could be a positive influence on Rena Rouge. As much as I know you love her, Nino, she’s become notorious. A lot of my coworkers really don’t like her...you know how many more criminals have been wheeled into the E.R. since Rena Rouge showed up? And let’s just say that criminals aren’t exactly fun to treat.”

Alya cackled at that, too. Maybe she should send the Paris hospital doctors some flowers. Or a donation or something. Nino replied to his wife. “That’s always been her thing, though. I know Ladybug makes your job easier by healing everyone she can, but,” he shrugged, “that’s exactly what I’m saying. Ladybug and Rena Rouge are too different to work together. They’re hot and cold. Oil and water. Yin and yang.”

“Uh, Nino,” Marinette interrupted, giggling over her words. “Yin and yang are supposed to work together.”

“Aw, putain, you’re right. Okay, not that one, then!” The three girls all laughed.

Conversation slowly moved away from Rena Rouge and Ladybug and onto topics that Alya was a little less close to- a little more free to talk about. Eventually, Nathanael and Marc walked by, so Marinette grabbed Alya and pulled her to talk to the creative couple.

Alya was in heaven. She had read every issue of their Ladybug comics as well as their spinoff ‘Reverser and Dessiniteur’ series, gushing with the two of them about lore, history, and superpowers. Marinette was just as at home in the conversation, having been there when the series was born in her collège art club. The conversation with them was so spirited that they all agreed to meet up again some time for a double date. And Alya realized she now had  _ multiple _ couple friends. Marc mentioned finding a babysitter for their child, but she just held Marinette’s hand tighter.

When Nino had gotten married and when her friend Laura had gotten pregnant, she had suddenly felt very old and very lost. She had wondered if Rena Rouge was holding her back from finding love and permanence in life. But tonight felt different. It might have been the alcohol, but as she held Marinette’s hand and looked around, everything felt...well... _ comfortable. _

She kept thinking about how comfortable everything was as Marinette led them to their next group of friends. It was easy to zone out anyway: Marinette and Chloé were talking rapidly about fashion and the upcoming Spring/Summer season, and try as she might, Alya had truly no interest in it at all. But she was interested in and perfectly happy to think about Marinette.

Their first month of relationship had already been the best relationship Alya had ever been a part of. Marinette never held it against her when she disappeared. She never pressed for details Alya couldn’t share. She didn’t lie, but she clearly respected her own past and her own mysteries enough to set boundaries on conversations. They worked well together. Alya liked all her friends and her roommate. They supported each other, and Marinette was just as content to run around Paris, chasing Alya and her story, as she was to sit at home with bad American movies and junk food and sketch. She was beautiful, she was smart, she was attentive and sexy in bed, and she was way stronger than Alya ever knew she wanted someone to be. Physically, emotionally, all of it. But god, she loved it.

She might even love  _ her _ .

Alya turned to look at Marinette. The sun had set and Paris lights reflected off the Seine and up on the reveling friends. Her giggle and smile shone as she chattered with Chloé. And Alya swallowed a massive lump in her throat. She was falling in love with Marinette Dupain-Cheng. And she was absolutely okay with that.

Alya must have been smiling like an idiot, because Chloé stopped whatever she’d been saying to Marinette and glared at Alya. “Mademoiselle Césaire, is there something  _ wrong _ ?”

“What?” Alya asked, snapping to the present.

Chloé raised an eyebrow in moderate disgust. “You look creepy and possessed. Is there something you need to...I don’t know...take care of?”

“No, I’m fine,” Alya laughed, “I’m just happy.” She couldn’t help it. God, it was sappy, and god, she shouldn’t drink so much. It made her sappy. But Alya grabbed Marinette’s wrist with her free hand and looked over at her girlfriend, absolutely mooning. “I’m just really, really happy.”

Chloé's laugh tittered. “Wow, Marinette. You landed a girl who’s an even bigger lesbian than you are.”

Giggling, Marinette kissed Alya’s lips once, then laid her head against Alya’s curls. “Chloé, considering neither of us are lesbian but  _ you _ actually  _ are _ , that insult doesn’t make sense.”

“It wasn’t an insult,” Chloé insisted. “I don’t insult my friends anymore. Not unless I’m being paid to do it. My opinion is worth much more than handing out for free at parties.”

“I think you found the perfect line of business, Chloé,” Marinette told her, sounding proud and affectionate. “I told you how jealous my coworkers are that we grew up together, right?”

“As they absolutely should be,” Chloé announced. “Any modicum of success you get, you should be attributing to me and my fine sense of fashion design.”

“Chloé,” Marinette laughed, “Are you kidding? You never once gave me a positive comment on my designs until Madame Lestrange  _ made you _ on our Fashion class critique days!”

“Because you weren’t any good yet,” Chloé defended. She turned to Alya, as if Alya would back her up. “You’re a journalist, Mademoiselle. Isn’t it against our journalistic integrity to compliment something that has the quality and professional finesse of a  _ child _ ?”

“If a child made it, I think it’s appropriate to be childlike,” Alya replied, shrugging.

Chloé huffed, crossing her arms. “I was Marinette’s first honest, unbiased critic and that is that.”

Alya looked between Marinette and Chloé. Marinette looked amused- most likely because she still couldn’t stop giggling from the punch running through her veins, but it seemed Chloé amused her more than annoyed her by now. And Chloé's pout betrayed a hint of affection as well. Marinette shook her head, giggling, and said, “Chloé, you were almost never honest or unbiased. But you are now, and I really respect you for that. You really  _ don’t _ care whose fashion it is, just that it’s good. No alliances, no underhanded business deals, no tacky drama over what shows you will or won’t attend.” She smiled. “That’s why my coworkers respect you so much. That’s why  _ I  _ respect you so much.”

Chloé scoffed, seemingly unable to take praise when it was about anything more heartfelt than her career itself. “Well, when the most respected and admired designer in all of Paris turns out to be a goddamn madman who sent sixty-three assassins after you as a  _ teenager _ ,” she took a dramatic, long sip from her ruby-red drink, then finished, “you stop equating the talent to the  _ person _ and just look at talent for talent’s sake. Honestly, Gabriel Agreste’s later career work was dismal and distracted. We all just pretended it wasn’t because of loyalty to the name.” She looked at Alya, smirking as she added, “That’s right, I had  _ sixty-three _ akumas targeted at me before I was even eighteen. How is that for garnering the attention of Paris?” She flipped her hair and cackled.

And Alya just blinked, wondering how on earth that was a bragging point. She opened her mouth to object but decided she was best off with it shut. “Um. Marinette?” Alya asked, turning to her girlfriend, “Let’s go check on the cake.” When Marinette agreed, Alya forced a smile at Chloé and lightly touched her wrist, saying, “It was great to meet you, Mademoiselle.”

Chloé flashed what was possibly the fakest smile Alya had ever seen, and her reply, “Yes, I hope we meet again soon,” smelled even faker. 

Once Alya and Marinette has made it nearly all the way to the cake, Alya turned to Marinette and asked, “So, what’s your story with Chloé Bourgeois?”

Marinette barked a laugh and wrapped herself tighter on Alya. “How much time do you have, ma jolie? It’s a long story...but the short of it is that we’re friends now. We don’t hang out that often. But she’s one of the most respected up-and-coming Fashion critics, she’s still close friends with Adrien...she’s a nice friend to have. After everything happened with...euh,  _ Le Papillon _ , Adrien moved in to my house. It really shook him up, obviously. It shook all of us up, including Chloé, so she would visit him. I talked with her a lot when she would come over. Once there were no more akumas to target her, Chloé really realized  _ why _ she’d been the target so often and...well, all of us sort of clung to each other,” she gestured at the group of friends, able to maintain friendships for over a decade, “and she grew up into a better person. She can still be an absolute bitch when she wants to be. She gets paid to be an absolute bitch,” Marinette giggled, “but she can also be very loyal. I don’t know if I’d ever describe her as kind or considerate, but she’s loyal.”

Marinette let go of Alya, having now reached the cake, and searched in her bag for a box of candles. “We’re giving him all 25,” she giggled.

“What was Chloé like before that?” Alya asked, helping Marinette arrange a flood of candles on the cake.

Marinette threw back her head, groaning into the sky. “Chloé was  _ awful _ before that. She was the single biggest bully of the school for most of Primary school, once she started attending publically. And she was the biggest bully for all of collѐge...she would constantly blame everything she did on someone else. She would entrap or outright frame others.” Marinette’s voice was different than normal as she reminisced about the Chloé from the past. It was tight and angry, and nothing like Alya usually heard from her girlfriend. She was falling in love with every side of Marinette, but this one was new.

Alya set down her candles, watching her girlfriend stab the cake a little too fiercely as she continued to rag on the Chloé that no longer existed. “She would threaten teachers with her dad’s power to get what she wanted. Teachers! She sent  _ grown adults _ home crying and turning into Le Papillon’s monsters. She would whine, she would boss Sabrina around, she would make fun of me and our friends, even the ones who couldn’t defend themselves…” A candle snapped in Marinette’s hand, and a shudder ran down Alya’s spine. Marinette squeaked, set the broken candle down, and grabbed another with a quiet, ‘whoops!’. Alya watched her hands and inhaled deeply, feeling herself get riled up the way she had when Marinette had teased her in front of Alix, the way she had when Marinette was talking about Ladybug with Kiki. That same energy returned and in Marinette’s low and angry voice, she heard her take charge, ready to defend her friends in the past. It reminded her of...well... _ fuck _ .

Unaware of the way Alya’s hand was now shaking and how her tongue was running over her lips, Marinette turned on the lighter and flamed over each candle. “She had all those akumas after her because she made  _ everyone _ so, so, mad. Le Papillon made them feel like they could actually stand up to her! She acted invisible, like she didn’t care about any single person’s feelings, because you know what? She  _ didn’t _ . She was vile, vindictive, nasty, manipulative, and-”

“Marinette,” Alya croaked.

Marinette snapped her head to her, eyes blazing from the memories. “What?” She snapped.

“I’m taking you home and fucking you right now,” Alya growled back.

Marinette’s face changed so quickly, anger to surprise to arousal, that Alya almost missed it. “What?!”

Alya stepped closer, growling again, “I’m taking you home and-”

“No, Alya, I heard you,” Marinette exhaled, grabbing the table and nearly flipping the cake on the ground. She giggled once. “Oh, god, baby, I heard you.”

“So? Do you want to go?”

“Yes, but- the cake! Alya, the cake!”

“Marinette,” Alya whined. She was already painfully pounding with desire and yet her girlfriend was lifting her parents’ massive cake again.

“Alya, I have not missed Adrien blowing out his candles for eleven years. Even the year I stayed home sick, they called and sang over the phone. Let’s sing and  _ then _ -”

“On s’envoye en l’air?[13] ” Alya asked, hopefully.

Marinette looked back at her, eyes dark, and stepped as close as the cake would allow. “You talk to me like you did earlier tonight, and I’ll have you climbing the curtains,[14]” she purred back. And then Marinette had the audacity to wink, giggle, and flick her hip to the side, carrying the cake towards the main group. Alya whimpered behind her and Marinette innocently sang out, “Okay, Nino, hit it!” 

_ “ _ Hey, you got it!” Nino shouted back, close enough to Alya to make her jump. From his speakers, the previous music abruptly cut off, replaced by a dramatic piano accompaniment of ‘Happy Birthday’. And Nino led the group in singing, “ _ Jouyeux Anniversaire….Jouyeux Anniversaire….” _

Alya finally found her footing on the third repetition, stepping closer to see Adrien grin with delight, wearing his stupid tie still. He closed his eyes, blew out the candles, and the group began to clap, including Alya.

But Alya saw Marinette clap twice, lean in to give Adrien a birthday bisou, and weave through the crowd as if chasing someone down. She got to Alya, grabbed her hand, and kept running. “I’ve already thought of  _ three _ different positions we’re trying, ma jolie,” Marinette explained.

Marinette dragged Alya behind her, both laughing loud and running along the quay to the stairs. They left the group and the cake below them, laughing almost the entire run over the bridge (and over the party), through Île de Saint Louis, over the next bridge, and down the street. Alya doubled her pace, now the one pulling Marinette along and up her apartment building stairs, at least until they got to the door that Marinette had to unlock. “Babe, hurry,” Alya begged, watching Marinette fumble with the keys.

“I am hurrying, you drunk horn-dog!” Marinette laughed. She pushed against the door, falling into the open apartment.

“I’m not even as drunk as you are, Marinette,” Alya insisted, shutting the door behind her. She was smiling, still laughing, as she turned to Marinette, who had no smile at all. But instead an incredibly sexy, freakishly familiar stern expression on her face and blazing in her blue eyes. Alya had never seen Marinette’s eyes take on that exact shade of intense blue, but she  _ had  _ seen it before, in a different girl’s eyes. And Alya’s gasp got caught in her throat as Marinette shoved her against the front door, shuddering the picture frames on the wall. They weren’t the only thing Alya felt shudder. 

“I’m not too drunk for you tonight, chèrie. Now, you were saying something earlier about thinking you were the top?” She chuckled once, then pushed her entire body against Alya and the door, forcing their mouths together and wasting no time in delving her tongue inside.

Alya groaned, gripping Marinette tightly and kissing back. One hand held her shoulders, one hand held her perfect little ass and bunched up her lemon dress. She moved her tongue and lips and ground her hips against Marinette. Alya sucked Marinette’s bottom lip between her teeth, nibbling and digging her nails in, rubbing roughly. 

Marinette groaned, one hand against the door and the other pushing Alya’s head against hers, gripping her by the hair. Then that hand pulled back, just far enough to separate their mouths so Marinette could nibble her way past Alya’s jaw and down her neck. 

“You’re not the top tonight, Césaire,” Marinette mumbled against the neck. Then she took a step back, leaving Alya gasping and her body pulled closer like a magnetic attraction. Marinette gripped Alya by the front of the pants, dragging her into Marinette’s bedroom where her nice, queen bed waited. With surprising force, Marinette flung Alya onto the bed, eyes blazing as she unzipped and dropped her own dress to a puddle around her legs. 

“Ohhh, putang,” Alya groaned, body already wiggling just from watching Marinette. Wearing just a strapless black bra and fucking red panties, her girlfriend’s eyes never left Alya, although they did rake over her body. Her hair, her lips, her chest, her hips, her crotch, her slowly spreading legs. 

Tonight wasn’t going to be soft or tender at all.

“You’re no top,” Marinette taunted, crawling onto the bed and unzipping Alya’s pants. 

“Yes, I-”

One finger rose to cover Alya’s lips as Marinette shook her head. “I’m in charge here,” she said, using that same angry voice, the same one that made Alya’s legs quake and confused her libido. She watched hungrily as the lithe, lovely body of Marinette Dupain-Cheng rose up to give herself room to undress Alya. She didn’t complain, she didn’t fight. She let her girlfriend run her hands over Alya’s curves, hissing in arousal, and even moaned herself when Marinette applied pressure to any one naked part of her body. Dozens of dirty thoughts ran through Alya’s mind. A lot of them she would try to make come true tonight; some of them, spurred by watching that taut ass covered in red fabric with muscular thighs, she didn’t even want to think, let alone admit they made her even wetter. But fuck, was it really Alya’s fault that Marinette was acting so damn much like...like...

Alya didn’t have time to think about that much before Marinette was satisfied with their states of undress and situated herself right over Alya, one hand gripping a breast and the other inching its way to grip much lower. Her grin was manic and her eyes were dark with dangerous lust.

Alya was falling in love with Marinette Dupain-Cheng. And that included loving the way Marinette was going to make her scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1"in the west": _dans l'ouest_ , in French. This idiom means "thinking somewhere else", kind of like being spaced out, in English terms.  
> 2 tant pis: "too bad"/"so what"!  
> 3 aperitif: A beautiful combination of appetizers, pre-gaming, and just the joy of eating food before you eat food. Since the French have dinner so late (8 pm), when you have company in the early evening or late afternoon, you might serve "aperitif" before dinner or going out to the club. It's light treats like crackers, chips, orange juice, champagne...nothing to get you full or drunk.  
> 4 "I think you've caught one too many mice in the head": The idiom "You've got mice in your head" means "you're crazy". Since Chat Noir is a cat who chases mice, Rena's taking this idiom one farther and insisting that he caught the mice.  
> 5 chienne: Bitch. Literally, female dog. (I've used this before, but it's been awhile, so maybe you forgot.)  
> 6Fermé : Closed  
> 7 Quays: The banks of the Seine are called "the quays". They are paved and can be reached by going down stairs. Many cities call this a "riverwalk". In Paris, they are popular gathering places for friends and families, artists, parties, or just romantic walks by the river. In Summer, some particular quays are turned into "beaches", but they're regular paved walk paths again by early September.  
> 8 “Once we got to lycée, our BAC tracks were different...the économique et sociale track... the Scientifique track ...And the littéraire track.”: After the first year of Lycée, students split into different tracks based on interests. "Economique et sociale" is a general/economics track, "Scientifique" is the sciences and math, and "littéraire" is a humanities track. You follow this for the rest of lycée and then take the appropriate BAC (end of lycée test).  
> 9 pote: "bud", "homie", "dude", "man"....it's a VERY casual way to say "friend", as opposed to the more polite "ami" or "copain". She's intentionally being informal around Chloe.  
> 10 teuf: verlan slang for "party". Verlan is an inversion slang and they're inverting the word "fête", which means party (technically a party during the day). A nice evening party would be a "soirée", and I'm sure that's how Marinette invited people. But a big drinking bash with young adults who talk in slang and party it up....? That's a teuf.  
> 11provincienne: means "from outside Paris", but it's an insult (like "hill-billy")  
> 12Parigot: means "Parisian", but as an insult. This insult comes from Alya's region of France.  
> 13"On s’envoye en l’air?": Literally, "one throws themselves in the air?". This is lovely slang for having really good (active) sex. Honestly, I can't think of an English equivalent that sounds as lovely...it's not _making love_ , but that's kind of close.  
> 14"climbing the curtains": Another French idiom/slang for having sex. But this one is a LOT ROUGHER than the one before. Imagine sex so good that you're not just gripping the bed-sheets, but...well...climbing the curtains out of pleasure. I get the feeling it's like saying you're going to "fuck your brains out".


	10. Those who love each other

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY so I'm gonna make up for being almost a week late by giving you a chapter that is *an entire 10 pages longer than normal!*  
> I tried to break it up, I did, but each chapter Has A Goal and I decided that one mega chapter of fluff was probably better than two short-ish fluff chapters dragging the story's momentum down. 
> 
> **Content Warning: Sexual content** First section.

\---i---

With her eyes closed, back flat on the bed, and one leg thrown over Alya’s shoulder, Marinette felt like she was everywhere and nowhere at the same time. She wasn’t aware of anything going on except for the intense, incredible feelings between her thighs and now spilling through her entire body. She could really only hear her own squealing voice and the wet sounds where her body connected with Alya’s tongue...mostly because those were the only sounds in the room.

Until another sound, one she _hadn’t_ invited, cut through the noise. “Oh, dudes, okay, you’re home! Damn, wow!”

Marinette’s eyes snapped open, looking at the door. She squealed and kicked Alya off of her with foot, one hand slapping to cover her breasts while the other frantically grabbed the sheet to pull it up and over their bodies. In a panic, Alya scampered under the sheet to the head of the bed and helped pull up the sheet until both girls sat, paralyzed in panic, up to their noses in sheet and staring at Nino in the doorway.

Nino’s expression changed from shock to delight and he laughed. “Hey, Alya, you weren’t lying! You are getting some now!”

Alya poked her head all the way out of the blanket, glaring at Nino. She wiped her mouth clean, then asked, “Why the hell would I lie about that, huh?” As Nino replied, she sat up a little taller, pinning the sheet between her armpits to cross her arms defiantly, and grabbed her glasses from the bedside table.

“You’re naturally a braggart and the way you described sex sounded _way_ too good to be true. But hey, maybe it’s actually happening!”

“Obviously it’s actually happening, Nino!”

Marinette’s brain had finally caught up to the rest of the conversation. She poked her head up and out just enough to hold the sheet up to her chin. “Nino, what are you doing in my room?!”

Nino shrugged. “Adrien and I just got home from the parrrrtaaaay. Wanted to see if you were home.”

Alya glared. “And you couldn’t _hear_ that we were home?”

Grinning, Nino replied, “It sounded suspicious.”

First, Alya rolled her eyes and scoffed. Then, she said, “It probably sounded like sex, you moron. Seriously, Nino,” she gestured at him in the doorway, asking, “C’est quoi, ce bordel?”[1]

Nino laughed. “You’re asking _me_? Ladies, this room is where it smells like a brothel, here!”

“And how would you know what a brothel smells like, bro?” Alya asked, eyes narrowed suspiciously and leaning forward.

Nino shrugged. “I’m just guessing.”

Marinette looked over at Alya, noticing how she leaned backwards and relaxed. She laughed once. “I’m so glad you’re not lying, man. I’d have to kick your ass.”

Still looking at Alya, Marinette squealed, “Can we get back to why Nino is standing in my room right now?!”

“I toldju, I was looking for you!”

She snapped to Nino, feeling and probably looking very small, still tucked up to her chin in a blanket, but shooting daggers at him nonetheless. “Nino, we are obviously busy! Why would you come in here?!”

Alya got Marinette’s attention and rubbed her fist on her nose.[2] “He loses his sense of personal space when he’s, ah-”

Nino barrelled on with his own explanation as Alya tried to blame it on his drunkenness. “Well, I’m very happy for you. That looked like a really difficult position, so haaaaay, good job girls! And on one of Marinette’s favorite holidays, too.” He gasped, then around so quickly, his dreads spun and hit him in the face. Ignoring that, Nino shouted to the rest of the apartment, “Adrien! The girls are having sex without you!”

“ _Oh, my god_ ,” Marinette squealed, feeling herself blush and lifting the sheet back up to her nose.

Adrien’s reply was faraway; he must be in the kitchen. He shouted back, “Good for them!”

Nino turned back to the girls, shaking his head as if disappointed in them. “Girls, girls, girls. It’s Adrien’s birthday; you shouldn’t be having sex without him.”

Marinette had thought she couldn’t be more embarrassed, but this drunk steamroller of a Nino just kept on going. She was eternally grateful for her girlfriend’s quick wit and sassy reply when Alya chimed up, “That’s why you’re here, right? So you can kiss him for his birthday and cry about it and not tell me?”

“Hey, Fuck you, Alya!” Nino shouted back.

“Nope, that’s Marinette’s job,” Alya smarted right back. And as embarrassed as Marinette was, she caught Alya’s affectionate side-eye and giggled. Alya continued talking to Nino, her voice much more sincere as she said, “You should have told me, man. That wasn’t cool. All those long phone calls in lycée and you two finally kiss and you tell me _nothing_?”

Nino sighed, pulling off his hat to reply. “Hey, Adrien’s kissed a lot of guys-” From the kitchen, Adrien shouted out a complaint that Nino ignored. “And I had bigger things going on in my life. Like getting married? And you were in Marseille! And nobody even remembered it except Alix.”

“I’m your best friend, man.” Once again, Adrien shouted a complaint that went ignored and spoken over. “You should have told me. I wouldn’t have judged you or nothin’.”

Honestly, Marinette was very curious about Nino’s take on their kiss. She knew neither he nor Adrien remembered it happening, but _god_ , the hours Adrien had spent complaining to her about missing the kiss, missing his chances, how unfair it was that Nino was getting married without him...that last part made a lot more sense, now that she knew he was researching polyamory. But regardless, now did not seem like the time for this conversation. “Um, Alya?” Marinette said, a little louder than a whisper. “As much as it would be great for you and Nino to talk about this, can we maybe not when…I mean...we’re not exactly dressed for a long conversation.”

Alya looked over at Marinette and giggled. Her giggle filled Marinette’s body with warmth; that giggle seemed reserved just for Marinette. It wasn’t her barking laugh, the one that was loud and full and contagious. It was small and secretive and made Alya’s nose crinkle. After she finished giggling, she nodded. “Nino, we are not done talking, but let’s finish later. When you’re sober and I’m fully dressed and Adrien isn’t in earshot.”

They heard a scraping of a chair and Adrien scrambling to stand up. He shouted out, “You can talk while I’m here. I won’t eavesdrop!”

Both Alya and Marinette laughed. Marinette shouted back, “Like you’re not eavesdropping now, yeah? It's like that?”

Nino looked back at Adrien, then turned his grin back into the girls’ bedroom. “Alright, sounds like a deal.”

From the kitchen, Adrien shouted again, “Ask them if they’re using Marinette’s presents that I bought her!”

“ _Adrien!_ ” Marinette screeched, sitting up higher as if it would carry her voice farther.

Nino doubled over laughing, finally backing out of the room.

“Shut the door, Nino,” Alya commanded. But his howling laughter just got louder and he got farther. “Shut the door!” Alya yelled again. Then, they could see Adrien and Nino slapping each other’s backs, laughing harder, in the kitchen. “Shut the fucking door, man! Oh, my god!”

Marinette looked over at Alya, both girls trapped, naked under the sheet and unwilling to walk over to the open door and shut it, and they couldn’t help but laugh. It was such a ridiculous problem. And it wasn’t like she could just ask Tikki to come out of her hiding spot in the kitchen and shut it.

While they were still laughing, Marinette heard Adrien’s laugh approach the door. She looked up to see her roommate, his face red from drink and eyes shining with affection. Adrien’s new tie hung loose around his neck and he was wearing a pink tiara crown; Rose must have gotten to him before he left the party. He leaned on the open door and looked into the room and purred at the girls, “Have fun, you too! Be smart! Don’t get her pregnant, Marinette!”

“Thank you, Adrien,” Marinette said.

“Happy birthday, Adrien,” Alya added.

Very, very slowly, Adrien started to shut the door, crooning, “Goodniiiiight!” with his stupid Chat Noir grin on his face. Right before it shut all the way, he blew them a kiss, which made Alya laugh even harder, and clicked the door shut.

The chatter from their friends was duller through the door. “Nino’s staying the night,” Marinette explained. “He always stays the night on Adrien’s birthday party when Adrien is single.”

“Oh, god, so was I right? Do they kiss and stuff?” Alya asked, eyes wide.

Marinette giggled and shook her head. “No, Adrien would tell me if they did. They just talk and play video games and pretend they’re teenagers again.”

“Well, that’s sweet,” Alya decided. She turned under the sheet, laying on her front and propped up on her elbows. “So, I don’t know about you, dou-dou, but I don’t feel like we were done.”

Marinette’s eyes glittered and her body immediately began to warm up. “Really? Even with the boys home now? We’ll have to be much quieter.”

Alya rolled her eyes. “Why? They already know what we’re doing. Nino opened the door on us and probably saw my glorious bare ass! I say, give them a soundtrack for their stupid video games.” She winked, then paused and added softly, “But if you’d rather try and stay quiet, that can be fun, too.”

Marinette settled herself into her pillow and rolled her shoulders back, getting comfortable. “Compromise. I’ll try and stay as quiet as possible...while you do your worst.”

Alya lit up like it was Christmas. She sat up, the sheet falling, but she no longer cared about modesty. “Oh, really? My worst?” Alya growled in delight and the way the sheet moved, Marinette knew she was wiggling her butt. God, Marinette loved how she did that so often. It was a _great_ butt that really deserved to wiggle a lot. “Ooh, dou-dou.” She positioned herself over Marinette, lowering her mouth to graze teeth over a shoulder. Marinette’s breath hitched and body raised, her own chest barely teased by the low-hanging breasts directly above. “I don’t think you can handle my worst.” Her hands gripped Marinette’s side, her voice low, growly, and sexy. “Especially not-” Alya bit the swell of Marinette’s chest, growling against it, “ _quietly_.”

Her entire body was shivering in delight and ramped up from the night they’d had so far. Marinette had to cautiously channel her Ladybug side to steel herself, then exhaled seriously. “Try me,” she commanded.

\---ii---

Morning light filtered in through the windows and Marinette slowly twisted awake. The head on her other pillow was Alya’s, not Tikki’s, as her kwami was off hiding elsewhere like she did most nights lately. Affectionately, Marinette scooted closer to Alya and the two blankets and sheets wrapped around her. As Marinette's eyes adjusted to the light, she could see it was late morning...maybe 9, maybe 10? Her hardworking girlfriend deserved to sleep in.

Alya’s dark skin looked rich and lovely in the morning light, her body looked soft and regal as it lifted and lowered with each deep, sleepy breath. Without glasses, she always looked a little different. Asleep, she always looked a little calmer. Alya tossed in the bed, curls springing and hair twisting in a beautiful wave of color. Marinette chanced taking hold of one of her curls, imagining how it would look in a different combination of colors. Would she get to see Alya change those colors over the years, like she had in photos of the past? Would she get to see the color naturally shift to something lighter?

She hoped to be that lucky.

Alya took a deep inhale and immediately, Marinette dropped her hair, hoping she hadn’t woken her girlfriend up. Alya fell onto her side facing Marinette and her eyelids slowly fluttered open. Just as slowly, a smile creeped up on her face.

Marinette smiled right back. Softly, she cooed, “Good morning, gorgeous.”

“Good morning, beautiful,” Alya replied. She creeped a little closer and found a kiss, then another kiss, then a deeper kiss. Morning breath wasn’t a problem when you had it, too. Marinette giggled, purely out of happiness, and pulled herself into Alya’s embrace. “Did you sleep well?”

“Very, very well,” Alya agreed. She peppered tiny kisses over Marinette’s face, making her squirm and giggle. “You wore me out, dou-dou. And that’s hard to do!”

Marinette hummed in pleasure. She ran a finger along Alya’s arm, finding a few scratch marks that would surely fade soon. “I can say the exact same for you, Mademoiselle Césaire. Most people can’t keep up with me like you do.” She winked.

Marinette was often grateful that she spent half her lifetime as Ladybug and for the athleticism it gave her. True, Marinette was never as strong, as fast, or had the endurance of her suited self. But twelve years of practice moving the body a certain way really helped make her into a fit, strong, flexible girl.

Those skills transferred well into giving her flexibility and endurance in sex, usually much more endurance than a non-hero partner could handle. True, Marinette had only had sex with three people, but the disparity between intercourse with Chat Noir and even her athletic ex-girlfriend had been...a disappointing downgrade. It frustrated Marinette in more ways than one.

Yet _somehow_ , Alya could keep up. And keep up. And keep up. And Marinette wasn’t about to question it for a moment. Not when as she rolled to see Alya better, she could feel how sore her legs and crotch were.

Alya grinned wickedly. She kissed Marinette again. “I guess we’re just the perfect fit in every way, aren’t we?”

“I guess we are,” Marinette agreed. They sat together in the quiet for a moment. Alya tenderly kissed one of Marinette’s bite-marks and they could hear soft city noises coming from outside. Nothing loud enough to pull them from their little haven. “Did you have fun at the party?” Marinette asked, eventually.

“I did. Your friends are really great, Marinette. You and Adrien are lucky people to have them.”

“They can be your friends, too! I think everyone really liked you. Especially Nath and Marc; they were so excited that you’re a fan.”

“Of course they’re excited. I’m amazing.”

Marinette giggled. “Yes, you are. I really, really like you.”

After a pause, Alya softly replied, “I really, really, _really_ like you, too.”

Marinette’s heart swelled. She scooted close enough that the girls were nearly nose to nose and they linked their hands together.

“So, how old is their kid?” Alya asked.

“She’s two,” Marinette explained. “They started the adoption process when they got married four years ago, a little before Nino and Kiki got married. Her name is Arielle, and she had the most beautiful brit bat. Arielle Anciel-Kutzenberg.”

“That’s nice,” Alya sighed. “Are they your only friends with babies so far?”

“So far,” Marinette agreed. “I think Mylène and Ivan are going to be next, from what I’ve heard. Rose is going to be really cute when she’s pregnant, but she and Juleka are still saving up for that.” Alya didn’t respond right away. In that dangerous silence, Marinette started to wonder...what would Alya look like pregnant? Or what would Marinette look like? Would they find a donor to match their races? Or maybe a close friend: Adrien? Nino? Maybe even... _oh, God, Marinette. Stop thinking like that!_

“I want to have kids one day,” Alya said. And frankly, her interruption didn’t help with Marinette’s perilous train of thought. “I’ve always been good with kids and I love hanging out with my littlest sister...the one still in CE2?[3]” She giggled softly, that same giggle that warmed Marinette’s heart. “Billie.”

“Billie is so cute,” Marinette agreed, remembering Alya’s photos and videos.

“Yeah. God, I miss her. Billie was an accident baby and Manman works so hard and so many hours...She was forty-one when Billie was born. So I helped out a lot when Billie was just a little baby. Before her, I didn’t think I wanted a kid at all. I mean, having twin little sisters will do that to you.”

“Yeah, I’d rather not have twins. Ella and Etta are very cute, but...no thank you.”

Alya laughed and nodded. “Or get pregnant as a forty year old.”

“Or that!” Marinette laughed. “Thank god you and I don’t have to worry about accidental pregnancies.”

Alya giggled right back, adding, “one of many perks!”

After their joint gleeful laughter, the girls heard a soft, polite knock on the door, followed by Adrien’s voice. “Hello? It sounds like you’re awake. Marinette? Don’t forget we have that thing this morning.”

 _That thing…_ oh, _that Ladybug thing_. And of course, she’d forgotten. Completely, utterly forgotten. “Euh, what time, again?”

“It’s at eleven, but we’re supposed to be there a little early. I wanted to leave in about a half hour. Can you do that?

Quietly, Marinette said, “Mince,[4]” pulling herself out of Alya’s grip and getting out of the bed.

Marinette stepped over to her closet and pulled off a pink robe, putting it on as she said to Alya, “I really have to shower, and I totally forgot about this thing Adrien and I have today. I’m sorry, chérie.”

Alya sat up in the bed. “Marinette, it’s fine. We can always cuddle more later!” She stretched, her voice straining as her arms pulled wide and said, “Besides, it leaves you wanting more.”

And Marinette couldn’t help it. She giggled and rushed over to Alya, putting her hands on her cheeks and smacking a kiss on those pretty lips. “I’m always wanting more,” Marinette hummed against Alya’s lips. Towards the door, she shouted, “I’m gonna shower and I’ll be ready to go in no time. Can Alya use your shower?”

“As soon as Nino gets out. We have a full house today.”

Marinette groaned. She had never showered with Alya today and their one-person shower didn’t have room for the two of them, so today wouldn’t be the time to start. “Tell him to hurry up!”

“It’s not Nino’s fault you two slept in!” Adrien shouted back. “Look, he’s done now. I just heard the water turn off.”

Marinette handed her old robe to Alya and said, “I hope there’s still warm water. We’re not used to having so many people in the apartment.” She turned back to the door, shouting to Adrien, “Can you make sure you take care of breakfast while we’re in the shower?”

“Put it on the table, you mean?”

Marinette walked over to the door and cracked it open just wide enough to stick her face out, still hiding Alya inside. Adrien was already dressed, of course, and smiled when he saw her. Marinette answered in a whisper, saying, “I mean feed the kwamis. I don’t know about yours, but mine has been hiding since before the birthday party, so they could use some socializing.”

Adrien’s reply was just as quiet. “She’s in a weirdly good mood, actually. So is Plagg. I think they also had their own party or something last night.” He shrugged and Marinette decided she’d have to ask Tikki what he meant later, when Alya wasn’t around. “But I fed them while Nino was showering and you two were still in bed.”

Marinette smiled approvingly. “Good boy! Smart kitty!” she whispered. “We’re not supposed to have a speech or anything prepared for the ceremony, right?”

Adrien chuckled. “No, Mademoiselle Forgetful. They might ask for a few words, but we weren’t supposed to prepare anything in advance. You just have to stand there and look pretty. You’re good at that.” He smiled and tapped her nose, then backed up.

“Thanks, Adrien,” Marinette said one last time before shutting the door. Alya had a change of clothes in her arms, as well as her purse filled with her morning toiletries. “Ready to go?”

Alya smiled and nodded, then followed her girlfriend out of the room and nodded to Adrien. “Good morning, Adrien! So, I’m using your shower?”

“Oh, you’ll love it. It has a shower-head and a door and tile floor…very state of the art,” he joked, leading Alya away and towards his room.

Marinette headed to the main bathroom where she showered. She showered quickly, scrubbing off the sleep, dried-on sweat, and last night’s sex. She was out of the bathroom as fast as possible to towel dry her hair and join the boys at the breakfast table.

Nino waved at Marinette from the table, slice of baguette in hand. “Good morning, Mari!”

“Good morning, Nino,” she replied. Marinette pulled a bowl out of a cabinet and joined the boys, admiring the spread. Chocolate powder, warm milk, baguette, two types of jams, Nutella, butter, and a generous bowl of strawberries sat in front of them all. “Wow, Adrien. You really pulled all the punches this morning. Trying to impress our guests?”

Adrien picked up a knife, swiping it against the butter and replied, “Well, I figured if I _butter_ them up,” he dug a spoon into the jam and continued, “they might find time to _jam_ in more breakfasts together!”

Nino laughed and slathered more Nutella on his slice of baguette. “Believe it or not, the thing keeping me from your house has more to do with the wife situation than the lack of breakfast food.”

Marinette just giggled at Adrien’s pouting reply. The swinging of Adrien’s door caught her attention and Marinette turned just in time to see Alya in the doorway. She was dressed for comfort instead of work, wearing a plaid long sleeve shirt and white capris. Nothing exciting, nothing flashy, but with a fresh face and tightly-curled wet hair, looking comfortable and happy, she was still breathtaking.

Literally, apparently, because Nino started to laugh. “Damn, Marinette. I know Alya’s pretty, but you’re gasping like she’s Cinderella on top of the staircase.”

Alya went from smiling back at her girlfriend to raising an eyebrow at Nino. “That’s because Marinette knows how to appreciate a fine woman, Nino.”

“And I don’t?” He asked.

Alya reached the table and immediately smacked a big kiss on Marinette’s lips, sat down, and then answered Nino. “Let’s find out. When’s the last time Kiki took your breath away?”

“Every morning,” Nino replied.

Marinette watched Alya’s face and saw her girlfriend click her tongue in disapproval. “Damn, boy, at least be honest when you’re trying to impress your friends!” Alya chastised. Adrien laughed in the background.

“I am! She looks beautiful in her doctor’s coat!” Nino replied, crunching his bread defensively. But Alya’s face looked even less impressed. “Okay, okay, geez. The last time was actually last night, when she got all dressed up for Adrien’s party. She doesn’t have time to get dressed up a lot. Alright?”

Alya smiled and nodded. She leaned forward and grabbed herself the baguette and bread knife, noisily cutting a slice. “Alright. That’s better. You best appreciate that woman, Nino.”

“I do appreciate her. And I appreciate that she doesn’t treat me like a kid like you do, Alya. How do you do that, anyway? How can you tell when I’m lying?”

“I’ve got journalistic intuition,” Alya replied simply, tapping her nose. She smiled to herself and started to spread jam on the bread.

Nino turned his attention to Marinette, asking, “How can you put up with that? She wasn’t like this when we dated as kids.”

Marinette chuckled. She was well aware of Alya’s talent for telling when someone was lying. She’d ran into in head-long the first few times she tried to lie her way out of something Ladybug related...honestly, it was a relief when she realized Alya would rather be told not to ask questions about a vague truth than have to make up cohesive lies all the time. So she told Nino, “I don’t know, Nino. I don’t lie to my girlfriend.” She smirked and with eyes still on Nino, put a fist out for Alya to bump.

Adrien changed the subject, asking, “What’s everyone’s plans for today?”

Nino was first to answer. “I’m going home. Kiki has the day off, so we’re going to clean the apartment and then hang out together.”

Alya replied next. “I’m not working at all today, so I fully intend on just going right home and reading a book.” Alya smiled wistfully and poured herself more orange juice. “No articles to write this weekend. Hopefully nothing to chase down.”

Marinette glanced at Alya. “Not even on your pet project?”

“The follow-up? No, not this weekend. I’m feeling good about that right now. I’m feeling secure.” She squeezed Marinette’s hand. “Besides, Lorraine doesn’t want me clocking as many weekend hours as I do. I have a prison visit lined up for Monday, though.”

Nino swallowed quickly, so quickly he choked a bit, and coughed out, “a prison visit?”

“Yeah, one of the connards I put behind bars...I mean that ...I was the one to write _when_ he was put behind bars. But that’s Monday, not today.” She looked back to Marinette. "You two have Adrien’s birthday dinner tonight, right? With your parents?”

Marinette nodded. “Every year we help Maman make soup dumplings.”

“They’re my favorite!” Adrien announced, hands on the table and manic grin on his face. “I love Birthday traditions!”

Marinette giggled. “We know, Adrien.” And they teased him mercilessly about how much he loved traditions, but Marinette was really just grateful he had them. She knew his birthdays in the past had never been...warm. Certainly nothing like spending hours in the kitchen with Marinette’s parents, rolling dumplings and holding contests for the prettiest and ugliest ones. Turning soup into gelatin and trying to trick each other into eating the jellified stock on its own.

The quartet of friends continued to chatter until Adrien reminded them all of the time. Working together, the kitchen cleaned up quickly and leftover breakfast went into the fridge. They all left the apartment together, Nino leading the way as he and Alya bickered over the past year’s Eurovision. That conversation took them down the stairs and out to the bank of the Seine, where Nino had to turn to find the metro, leaving Alya to walk with Adrien and Marinette for a little while longer.

Eventually, Adrien and Marinette waved goodbye to Alya and turned down the random street Adrien had chosen. They weren’t late, so for security’s sake, they wandered down the street for a few more blocks and turned a handful of times before finding a safe place to transform. Once she was clothed in red and black, Ladybug twisted her body and adjusted her magical bun, antennas curling and straightening again. “Alright, so this is for the grand reopening of Pont Miraculous, right?”

“You remembered!” Chat Noir cheered. His partner stuck her tongue out at him while he bent backwards to grab a toe in a stretch, then did the same with the other foot. “Right. Pont Miraculous. You don’t think Alya’s going to be there reporting, do you?”

Ladybug shook her head and started spinning her yo-yo, ready to attach it to the roof above them. “No. She said she isn’t working today, and I believe her. Why, are you worried she would recognize us?”

“I’m worried she would recognize _you_ , Buginette,” Chat admitted. He extended his baton, slammed it into the stone ground, and rode it like an elevator up to the rooftop. Once Ladybug joined him, he explained, “Someone that looks that close at you is bound to notice things eventually.”

“She’s only known me for a month. You’ve known Nino your entire career as Chat Noir and he never figured it out!”

Adrien laughed. “Nino isn’t a reporter. It isn’t his _job_ to figure things out. I really love you and Alya together, honestly I do, I just want to make sure we’re all safe.”

“Well, we’re safe. If Alya was the tiniest bit suspicious, I’m sure she’d talk to me more about Ladybug, but she never does. Where is this coming from, Adrien?”

“Plagg, actually. During the kwamis’ breakfast he kept asking me about how much you love Alya, how great Alya is, even how cute she is. He even asked if you think she’s hotter than Rena Rouge.”

“Hotter than Rena Rouge?” Ladybug asked, surprised. “That’s random.”

Chat grinned at her. “I think because we like to tease you about our foxy lady.”

“Oh, god. Can’t you all stop with that now that I have a girlfriend? Rena is awful! Obviously Alya is hotter. And better!” She pouted and threw her yo-yo with particular gusto. “I mean, does it still trigger some feelings of...attraction when Rena Rouge is beating someone up who really deserves it? Yes! Sure! But that isn’t my fault, it’s...biology! Most girls would feel the same way. And trust me, if Alya did anything close to those kind of moves, Rena wouldn’t even compare.”

“You don’t have to prove that to me, I promise,” Chat laughed. “That’s about when Tikki got frustrated with him and said they shouldn’t intervene anyway. And you know Plagg- he doesn’t get invested unless there’s potential for chaos.”

Still vaulting over roofs and towards the bridge being reopened in their names, Ladybug thought. “I think we’re fine, Adrien. I don’t think Alya is a danger to our secrets...besides, I really like her.”

“Oh, Ladybug. You don’t just like her,” Chat Noir said. Ladybug turned and looked at him, waiting for Adrien to continue. “Marinette, you’re falling in love with her.”

The soft way Adrien said it made it sound all the more true. Ladybug had her wide blue eyes on Chat’s soft electric green ones, and launched her yo-yo, but missed the parapet. She leapt with no clutch, yelping as she tripped and nearly fell, at least until Chat Noir caught her and barely saved them both by pinning his baton into a nearby gutter. Breathless, clutching her partner for dear life, Ladybug asked, “Is it that obvious?”

Chat chuckled. He extended his baton until they were back on a roof and ruffled Ladybug’s antennas, curled over her head in curiosity. “Buginette, I haven’t seen you make heart-eyes this big at someone in a _long_ _time_.” And Marinette knew what that meant. The rest of the sentence, _not since me_ , floated unsaid between them both.

Awkwardly, Ladybug cleared her throat and pulled herself out of Adrien’s arms. “You can’t tell her yet. It’s still too soon...I’m not ready to be in love.”

Chat chuckled. He dug his baton into the ground and leaned on it, winking at Ladybug. “Too late, My Lady.”

With wide eyes, Ladybug stammered, “You told her?!”

Chat’s smirk faded. “What? No! That’s not what I meant. No, I meant it’s too late: you’re already falling in love. No, I won’t share any of your secrets without your permission.” He paused. “Just like you won’t share any of mine, right?”

Ladybug was still reeling with relief. “Oh, god. You scared me, Chaton! No, I won’t tell anyone your secrets. Not until you’re ready.”

Chat exhaled a sigh. He looked over the roof- they were just one building away from Pont Miraculous. “Thanks for taking it seriously, by the way. My, um, polyamory research. Thanks for not making a joke out of it.”

She smiled and shrugged. “You have too much love in your heart to make a joke out of this yourself. So I never would.” Still, Ladybug grinned, leaned forward and flicked his bell. “You’re still a tomcat, though. Should we go cut a big red ribbon, Chat?”

He dramatically flourished towards the bridge and the small crowd waiting. “After you, My Lady.”

—-

Before catching public transit home, Alya walked in the warm early September morning to the Berthillion ice cream parlor. She ordered a two-scoop serving of hazelnut and Tahitian vanilla, then found a secluded bench.

Trixx stuck their nose out of Alya’s hair, sniffing curiously before diving down to the bowl. “Alya, this is so _fancy,_ ” they cooed, admiring the rose-shaped scoop before trying the flavor. But when they did try the flavor, Trixx’s eyes went even wider. “And delicious! Wow!”

Alya giggled. She reached down and scratched between Trixx’s ears, then scratched once all the way up their ear and to the curl at its top. “It’s been a long day for you, bud. I didn’t even check that Marinette had ice cream in her freezer before I just…” she sighed, “let myself get swept away in affection.”

Trixx looked up at Alya thoughtfully. “You really like her, don’t you? I mean, romantically.”

“Trixx, why are you even asking? Of course I do. She’s everything. Oh, wow, this _is_ really good ice cream.”

Trixx raised one eyebrow, continuing, “and you really don’t like Ladybug, right?”

Alya rapped her kwami with her spoon. “You know that, too. What does Ladybug have to do with anything?”

“What do you think of Ladybug? I mean... _exactly_.”

“Exactly?” Alya asked, laughing a little. “I think it’s a beautiful Sunday and you shouldn’t ruin it by bringing her up.” Trixx took another bite, but continued to stare down Alya. She rolled her eyes and gave in. “Alright, fine. I, um, I don’t really get her style, I guess. This whole goody-two-shoes thing she has going...trying to be Paris’s sweetheart. I wish she would actually take a few risks and get in some real scrapes the way she used to. But to be totally fair, she does work hard. She does work long. I didn’t expect her or Chat Noir to ever come back after they disappeared...but they have. I guess Ladybug uses respect and love to try and stop criminals and I get my respect more from fear.” She took another bite. “Different cities would create that, I guess.” Alya scoffed. “Ladybug would get rolled right over if she tried her love schtick in Marseille.”

“That’s a lot more positive than what you used to think,” Trixx said, curiously.

“Yeah, well...Marinette said some stuff about how Ladybug helps people see there’s hope and good in the world...and I guess that made sense.”

Trixx snickered. “You just like it because _Marinette_ said it.”

“Marinette is smart, okay?” Alya said defensively. “I’m not saying I _like_ Ladybug. I’m just saying...Marinette had some interesting points. But we even agree that Rena Rouge and Ladybug are too different to really _like_ one another!”

Trixx’s smirk disappeared and they looked at the table, then over at the ice cream. It was a really odd reaction. “I think it’s good you’re trying to see Ladybug’s side. You should keep trying. I really like Marinette.”

“Because she helped me see one good thing about Ladybug?” Alya asked, raising her own eyebrow this time. The connection seemed weak at best.

“I just really like you two together, Alya. I don’t want your dislike of...well, I don’t want anything ruining it.”

“Neither do I,” Alya said softly. “Are you worried she’ll dump me when I tell her who I am?” Trixx’s face looked sad and as easy to read as a book. Alya’s own smile faded for a moment. Trixx had a good feel for people’s emotions. Were she and Marinette really so fragile?  “Well, I don’t see myself telling her any time soon. I’ve never told a soul...that’s the kind of thing I’ll tell her before marriage, I guess...I don’t want her marrying into a secret that big. But I don’t even want to think about marriage to Marinette right now!”

Trixx snickered again. They crossed their arms and flashed their fangs in a grin. “ _Liar.”_

“Oh, shut up,” Alya muttered, softly flicking Trixx’s nose and blushing herself. “I don’t want to want to think about it. How about that? I refuse to think about it. Intentionally.”

Trixx smiled wide, shaking their head. “You’re still such a big, fat, liar.”

“Okay, So I’ve thought about it! I’m falling in love...that’s part of falling in love, alright?! It’s way too soon for me to think about it, I just...she’s just so _cute_.”

“She is cute,” Trixx admitted with a giggle. “And you would be cute wives. I bet she would get me all the best ice cream and I bet she would give me great ear scratches.” Trixx gasped. “You should put an ice cream maker on your wedding registry!”

Alya laughed loud. “Okay, dork. Now you’re officially thinking about this way harder than I ever have. Dude, we are _years_ away from getting anything off a wedding registry. And I bet she’d punt your sarcastic little tail out the window.”

“She would not,”

“You’re right. She would not.” Alya took another bite. “I love you too much to let her. And she can get pretty sarcastic herself. I’ve actually never imagined introducing you to someone...I don’t know if I want to share you, Trixx.”

“Oh, I’m bonded to you, Alya. After as many years as we’ve been together, kwamis and their holders are practically one. Even if Marinette tried, she can’t take another kwami. Um, another person’s kwami, I mean.”

“Well, good. Because I like you too much.” Alya laughed to herself. “That’s another one of the many, many reasons to not tell her who I am. I’m not ready to share you.”

“Not ready to share me, but you won’t get me my own bedroom,” Trixx scoffed, throwing a very fake pout in Alya’s direction.

“What would you even do with a room, Trixx?”

“I’d get a bookshelf! A freezer! Maybe we can set up games for friends to play with me.”

“Friends?”

Trixx ignored that. “And a big burrow of blankets for nap time when you don’t want me next to your bed.” They made a face. “I don’t ever want to cuddle with you during your human mating rituals. Gross.”

“Hey, we’re on the same page there. Maybe I’ll get you a kindle for Christmas...but I am not getting you an entire bedroom.”

“Why stop at a kindle, Alya? Buy me a laptop!” Trixx grinned and bounced up and down in the air, their tail wagging excitedly. “I’ll start looking up laptops right now!”

“Trixx, I can’t afford a second laptop! I’m just praying _mine_ doesn’t break down!” She took another bite of her ice cream. "Seriously. I give you a finger, you take the whole arm! ...I’m really glad you like Marinette, though.”

“She makes you happy. I got to explore her house a little last night after everyone went to bed...don’t even try to lecture me, Alya! I was careful! I’m older than you; I know how to be _careful_. Anyway, I explored a little, and…” Trixx’s smile turned wicked and they chuckled. “I like the company she keeps.”

“You mean Adrien and Nino? Did you watch them sleep, Trixx?”

“I wasn’t watching them sleep,” they denied with a dramatic eye-roll. “That’s not what I mean. Hey, when is she coming to our place next?”

“I dunno. We haven’t really planned that. She has a better apartment...the only perk of our place is that we don’t have a roommate.”

“Oh, right,” Trixx said. "But we have cookies at home, right?”

“Cookies? Why?”

“For when Marinette comes over. I want to be a good host.”

“You just hide in the closet and read when she comes over! Why do you want to have cookies?”

“To put in my bedroom.”

“Woy, Trixx. Enough with the bedroom!” Alya rolled her eyes. Trixx just giggled and filled their cheeks with another big bite of ice cream. “And if you keep your cookies in your _closet_ , how does that make you a good host for Marinette?”

“We take some _out_ of the closet when she comes. She likes cookies. Did you see how many they have in their apartment?!”

Affectionately, Alya cooed. “You really do like her, don’t you? You really want us to work!” Trixx giggled again. Alya had never been able to tell when her kwami was lying, deceiving, or hiding anything. After all, no one was better at hiding an illusion than the creator of illusions themselves, and Trixx was the one who leant Alya her ability to sniff out lies. But still, Alya could tell that the tiny fox kwami was hiding _something._ "I don't know what you're up to, little one, but it better not be mischief."

"It's not. I promise." Fangs bared, Trixx teased, "Since when am I  _ever_ mischievous, hmm?"

—-iii---

After the ceremony at Pont Miraculous and running an afternoon’s worth of errands, Marinette and Adrien arrived at the side entrance to Tom and Sabine’s house. Tom opened the door, smiling wide and calling with a booming voice, “Adrien! Marinette! Come in!” He quickly hugged and kissed his daughter, then squeezed Adrien so hard, she heard his back pop. “Happy birthday, son!”

“Thanks, Papa Dupain,” Adrien coughed out. Tom released him. “And thanks for the tie! It’s hilarious and I love it.”

Tom puffed up in pride, announcing, “I picked that one. Now come on, you both! Maman is waiting knees deep in soup for your birthday dumplings.”

They stepped into the kitchen and immediately, Sabine blazed past her husband and daughter to wrap Adrien in her own hug. “Adrien, mon poussin! Look at you! You look even more handsome and grown up than you did the last time I saw you.”

Adrien laughed. “You mean last week?”

“Don’t let school suffocate you now, Monsieur. If you pull a stunt like last June and don’t come in to visit your parents, I’ll put in a missing persons report.”

“It was the bac, [5]Maman Cheng. I had to grade review packets, help kids study...it was busy!” Adrien said, as if that was a valid excuse.

“All the more reason for you to come and let us make you dinner and help out. Right, Marinette? Like we do for your fashion shows!”

"You know Adrien, Maman. He doesn’t like to ask for help,” Marinette offered. “It smells great in here...pork dumplings?”

Sabine was not ready to change the topic just yet, tuttering around and chastising Adrien still. “Adrien, we can’t help you unless you ask. You’re never home when I try to stop by...I worry about you!”

“I’m here now, Maman Cheng,” Adrien said.

“Yes, but would you be without the food?” she gestured behind her at the mounds of fillings, sitting in bowls, and neatly set out sauces.

“Speaking of which,” Tom said, “I’m starving and these wrappers aren’t going to pinch themselves. Sabine, why don’t you stop lecturing our poor boy and put these kids to work?”

And so she did just that. Tom situated himself where he felt most comfortable with the dough. Even then, the dough recipe for dumplings was nothing like the choux pastry and pate feuilletée Tom was used to, and somehow, his dumplings were never nearly as beautiful when steamed as he hoped. Sabine worked on finishing touches for the fillings, directing the younger adults to find an apron and a floured counter and start flattening dumpling wrappers.

It only took about five minutes for them to all find their groove, portioning dough, flattening, pinching, stuffing, and rolling beautiful dumplings together. As well as some not so beautiful dumplings.

“Marinette,” Adrien began to tease, “that one looks more like a pig than a dumpling.” He poked the snout-like top of the dumpling.

“I’ll just have to enter it for ugliest dumpling then,” she sassed back. As if proving her ability, she spun the next dumpling top into the picture-perfect swirl and stuck her tongue out at Adrien. “Let’s see you do that, Monsieur Agreste.”

Adrien lifted an eyebrow and threw back his shoulders. With pouted lips and Chat Noir-like exaggerations, he proceeded to very dramatically plop pork filling into the dumpling, caress its sides into a pouch, and spin it tight, tighter, tighter...until the wrapper skin ripped. And Adrien’s shoulders sank.

Marinette tried and failed to hold back a laugh, but did manage to wrap a comforting arm around Adrien. “Oh, it’s alright, minou. You can do it.”

“Try again, Adrien,” Sabine said, discarding his mistake into the trash.

“Aww, Maman Cheng, why did you throw it out?! I would have eaten that!”

Sternly, Sabine snapped back, “You don’t eat raw dough, Adrien.”

“It’s just flour and water!”

“You _don’t eat raw dough_ , Adrien!” she repeated. “Your father has been sick more times than I can count because of that.”

“Bichette, a tiny dumpling wrapper isn’t going to kill him,” Tom argued, carefully finessing his own dumpling into a swirl.

“Best not test fate,” she replied. “We have enough food to go around. I don’t want him getting sick at the beginning of the school year. He’s busy enough as is...let’s not add writing sub plans on top of that. Although, Adrien, if you had pre-written sub plans…”

“Maman, it’s my birthday. Can we please not talk about that again?” Adrien whined, giving her the biggest kitten-eyes he could.

“Just because it’s your birthday doesn’t mean responsibilities still can’t be planned and arranged in advance, loulou. Speaking of which, how did your errands go today?”

“Fine,” Marinette answered. “Nothing exciting. There was a big crowd over at Pont Miraculous today.”

Tom looked proud as he said, “Oh, we know! The reopening ceremony was today! I was there selling our Ladybug and Chat Noir macarons.”

“Did you sell a lot?” Marinette asked, politely, already knowing the answer. She’d seen the crowds; she’d seen her dad’s pleased face when he packed up his empty boxes.

“We sold them _all_ ,” Tom said. “Although I had a few people asking for Rena Rouge cookies, which, of course, we didn’t have…” Marinette’s fingers inadvertently dug a little too tight into her dumpling wrapper. Tom continued, “She was mentioned in that speech Madame le Mayor gave. Why don’t you think she was there?”

“Tom,” Sabine chastised, “You’ve read Alya’s articles. Rena Rouge doesn’t go to those kind of things.”

“Oh, that’s right,” he said, nodding with understanding.

Adrien, however, had latched on to something he said earlier, stilling his hands to ask, “Are you going to make them, the Rena Rouge cookies?”

“It could be a fun challenge!” Tom barked back. “Orange flavor, I suppose. With white cream. Oranges and cream do taste wonderful together in a macaron. But I’m not sure how we’d make the design work...Marinette, do you think you could design something like that?”

Marinette blinked and her jaw clicked into place. “Design a...Rena Rouge cookie?”

Adrien snickered and elbowed her. “I don’t know, Mari. Have you stared at her face long enough to know what it looks like on a cookie?”

Glaring back to reply _shut up_ , Marinette responded, “I guess I could try. I don’t know who would buy them, though.”

“We wouldn’t sell as many as the Ladybugs, that’s for sure,” Sabine agreed. “It could be simple...a zig-zag of white, like a fox tail? Some people seem to like her enough they would be interested! And she is one of our new heroes.”

“Maman, you’re not a Rena Rouge fan, are you?” Marinette whined.

“I’m a businesswoman, Marinette. And Rena Rouge has saved enough people that our customers requested her today, even without her presence at the ceremony. She deserves a cookie, too.”

“Yeah, Marinette,” Adrien crooned, “She deserves a cookie, too.”

“Adrien, what is that even supposed to mean?” Marinette hissed, smacking his arm. He cackled and jumped away, so she did her best to ignore his waggling eyebrows. “I guess I can help design the cookie, Papa. Maman’s idea sounded good, so I can do something like that.”

“Thank you, mon cœur,” Sabine said. She meaningfully dropped a spoonful of filling into Marinette’s waiting wrapper, and teasingly sang, “Alya stopped by while your father was at the ceremony.”

“Maman, she’s my girlfriend, not my crush. You don’t have to say it like that,” Marinette said with a roll of her eyes.

Adrien leaned over. “Ooh, Alya’s not your crush? I’m telling her. Oh, but of course she’s not your crush. I know who your crush is…”

Marinette looked up and glared at Adrien. “You better not be implying what I think you are.”

Adrien’s Chat Noir grin responded first. Then he said, “oh, but she such a _foxy cookie..._ ”

“Adrien! I do not have a crush on her! Would you stop that?! I barely even tolerate her!”

Tom looked up in surprise. “Marinette, you have a crush on someone besides Alya?”

“No, Papa, Adrien is just a jerk.” She looked over at Adrien and his grin and glared. “You think she’s pretty, too. But I don’t tease you about it!”

“Yes, you do!”

“Not as much! You guys won’t shut up whenever we have to work with her!”

“Because you still check her out every time. Even when she’s mad at you. And you bite your lip like it’s the sexiest thing when she...” apparently not wanting to say _beats people up_ in front of their parents, Adrien mimed punching. Frankly, that just drew more attention to the conversation.

“Who are you two talking about?” Sabine asked, bringing over another spoonful of pork filling.

“No one, Maman. Just Adrien’s friend; she’s nobody.”

“Now Marinette, nobody is nobody,” Sabine chastised. “If she’s Adrien’s friend, then she’s obviously important. You know that!”

Adrien thumbed his chin, saying “et toc, Marinette.”

Rolling her eyes, Marinette conceded, “fine, she’s _someone_ and therefore has _human value_. But she’s not important in regards to my relationship with Alya. Can we agree on that? I like Alya, not...her.”

Adrien was still smiling as if he was the winner here, but now smiling at his row of dumplings. “You’re allowed to like more than one person, you know.”

“ _You_ would know, _Adrien_ ,” Marinette teased, sticking her tongue out. “You’re the expert on liking multiple people, aren’t you?”

“You said you wouldn’t tease!” Adrien whined. “And on my birthday?”

Sabine stepped closer, asking, “Tease about what?”

In chorus, Marinette and Adrien answered, “Nothing, Maman.”

Sabine crossed her arms and pouted. “Fine. I see how it is. You leave your own parents out of the conversation...we leave you two out of the will.” She spun on her heel and marched defiantly towards Tom. “Tom, mon gros! We need a new daughter and a new son. If we leave now, we can get them before my biological clock runs out.”

Adrien started to laugh, while Marinette shrieked in protest. Tom though just turned around and growled, then grabbed Sabine around the waist. “Want to go now, or while the dumplings are steaming?”

“Papa, no! Maman, no!” Marinette squealed again.

“Oh, as if you’re not having sex,” Tom replied.

“Not in front of you, I’m not! I don’t want to talk about this with you, Papa! I don’t want to talk about that on Dumpling Night!”

Sabine giggled. She put a hand on Tom’s chest and leaned up to kiss him. “Don’t worry, mon cœur. Papa and I are just joking. I stopped needing to use birth control three years ago.”

Marinette slammed her hands over her ears, wailing, “That wasn’t the part I wanted you to be joking about!”

Adrien sighed in loud, over-exaggerated contentedness. “I love our family. It’s not my birthday until Marinette’s blushing bright red.”

Tom smirked, eyes on his blushing daughter, then glanced back at Adrien. “Will you still love our family when Alya gets added in?”

“ _Papa!_ Papa, stop!” Marinette wailed again.

But Adrien laughed and nodded. “Oh, Papa Dupain, Alya’s even better at teasing and making her blush than any of us.”

Sabine laughed and nodded. But Tom’s grin was wicked and he said, “I thought we weren’t talking about that on Dumpling Night?”

Adrien blinked, not understanding immediately as Tom barked a laugh. And then even he was blushing.

\---iv---

Marinette didn’t spend every night with Alya. After all, sometimes Alya had to get to work early and didn’t want to risk sleeping in, or Marinette was out late dealing with work and Fashion Week and everything that entailed. Sometimes their plans were derailed by Ladybug and any late night she might have. Sure, there were nights where Marinette crawled home at 1 am, crept through her dark apartment, and found her bed in a tangled burrow of blankets with her girlfriend sleeping in the middle without formal invitation. But other days, she woke to a chilly late September morning and no one but Tikki sleeping on her second pillow.

This particular Wednesday, she found the lone pillow to be particularly distressing. She rolled to her side and grabbed her phone, checking the time and any texts...sure enough, there was one waiting from Alya. - _Bon matin doudou_ [6], timestamped at 4:26 am.

After readjusting her position on her side, Marinette tapped out a reply two hours late. “I don’t understand how it’s ever a good morning at 4:26 you crazy lady!!” For good measure, she included a string of emojis- crying, kissing, laughing, and sleeping.

“Morning, Tikki,” Marinette said as she climbed out of the bed.

“Good morning, Marinette,” Tikki replied, stretching and yawning on the pillow.

Silently, the two went about their routine, Marinette stopping only to receive and respond to Alya’s text: - _Its a good morning when i was dreaming of you_

 _-I wish you’d been here this morning with me. I miss you!_ Marinette admitted.

 _-Me too. I can stay over tonight?_ Alya asked, almost immediately. And Marinette couldn’t hide her smile.

 _-Yes please!!! Have you had breakfast yet? I want to see you_.

Tikki fluttered over to Marinette’s shoulder as she pulled on a light jacket. “Wow, Marinette. Have you ever been this attached to someone after only a month?”

“A month and a week, as of tomorrow. And no, I don’t think I have. I just feel so...at home with her, you know? We have a romantic bond of course, but it feels...deeper than that.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Tikki agreed. “I’m so glad you’ve found a person to share that with, Marinette!”

“I wish I could share more, you know?” Marinette frowned as she tickled under Tikki’s chin. “I wish I could share you. And that side of me. Ladybug is so important to me and she always will be...I want to share _everything_ with Alya. Can you imagine how good we’d be together if I could just...tell her?!”

“It might complicate things, Marinette,” Tikki replied, giving her a knowing glance.

“I know. But she’s so understanding of when I have to leave anyway, and she makes her living writing about miraculous heroes, so I’m sure she’d understand.”

“Um...I don’t think the _understanding_ would be the problem,” Tikki muttered, her voice trailing off as Marinette ignored her kwami. After all, Alya had replied and she was now giggling and squealing.

“Come on, Tikki. Let’s go get breakfast with my girl.”

She breezed into the front room and Tikki quickly flew over to nuzzle Plagg, who greeted her with an affectionate, “Morning, Sugar Cube,” before Tikki darted back to Marinette’s shoulder. Adrien barely had time to greet Tikki at all.

“No time to chat, Adrien. Alya’s already at Maman et Papa’s and I want to meet her there.” She was already on her way to the alley window, so Adrien, with a piece of buttered baguette sticking out of his mouth, practically tripped on his way to catch her for their goodbye bisou.

He swallowed and said, “Tell her I say ‘hi’. And to make more of that coq au vin she made last week next time she’s here!”

“Alya is not your personal chef, Adrien. But that chicken was super good...I’ll tell her. Tikki, Transform me!”

Once the sparkles faded, Adrien gave one last bisou to Ladybug. “You’re the best, Buginette. See you later!”

“Have a good day at school! Teach them lots of science!” Ladybug waved goodbye and opened their window, launching a yo-yo directly at the nearby roof.

Sure, it was a waste of Tikki’s power. Sure, it was a bit of an abuse. But it saved her a solid 12 minute walk if she could just zip across the Seine in one beautiful round of flying flips, dart over the Notre Dame and along the flying buttresses, flip and spin over the other half of the river, and make a tumbling leap to land on her old balcony.

Marinette transformed back into her everyday self before she slipped into the old bedroom and down the hall. As silently as she could, she crept through her parents’ house and into the boulangerie, masked by the noise and hubub of the Wednesday morning crowd. She was crawling on the floor, inching past the door and planning her way to find Alya at a table. But Marinette froze upon hearing Alya’s voice just overhead.

“Au lait today, please. And a second one for Marinette with a pain au chocolat, with a peach.”

“Oh, Marinette’s coming in this morning?” Sabine asked, taking Alya’s order down.

“Any moment now, I hope,” Alya agreed. “She wanted to meet up before we both had to get to work.”

Like a jack-in-the-box, Marinette sprang up from the floor, making her mom shriek in surprise. “I’m here!”

“Marinette! What on earth were you doing on the floor there?!” Sabine asked, hand over her stammering heart.

“I came in through the house,” Marinette replied. And she turned to Alya, leaning over the counter and grinning maniacally. It was so good to see her. She looked radiant that morning. Her eyes were sparkling behind Alya’s adorable glasses, her hair was curling in just the right way, swept up to the side with cascading colors. How she was this beautiful, Marinette truly didn’t know. “I came hom the frouse,” she repeated.

“You came from the house,” Sabine mimicked, scoffing and not noticing how her daughter and her girlfriend were caught in a trance, beaming at one another. “I don’t know why you do that, ma petite. I know you think it’s faster somehow, and apparently it is, but- Marinette, chérie, would you get out from behind the counter?”

“What? I- what? Oh, sorry, Maman,” Marinette apologized. She scampered around the other side of the counter, just in time to receive the completed order of two cafes au lait, two little pastries, a peach and a pear, and Alya’s traditional container of ice cream. She would have to slip some of her pain au chocolat into her purse for Tikki this morning, Marinette decided.

Arms laden with breakfast, Marinette found Alya and herself a little table in the middle of busy customers, and Alya’s hand found the small of Marinette’s back. Once Marinette’s arms were free, Alya spun her around and into a tighter embrace, pressing a soft, loving peck on her lips. “Good morning, choupette. You got here really fast, girl!”

“I wanted to spend as much time with you as I could,” Marinette explained. She didn’t elaborate, she didn’t let herself lie. Instead, she just watched Alya smile and her eyebrows push together and birthmark lift just slightly in the facial expression that Marinette had come to realize she was falling a little more for Marinette with the second. God, she wanted to lean over and kiss that little birthmark.

And so she did. And then she giggled against Alya’s forehead. She sat back down in her seat and giggled again, this time behind her hands.

“Marinette, you are so fuckin’ cute,” Alya laughed, pulling one of Marinette’s hands into her own. “Thank you for meeting me this morning. I know they’ll need you at Acharné as long as they can have you, so it means a lot, girl.”

Both girls started in on their breakfast, dipping pastries in coffee and sipping between words. “Oh, absolutely. Some of the designers have started sleeping at the office.”

“You’re not doing that, are you?”

“Not tonight! I have _company_ tonight,” Marinette flirted, earling a smirk from Alya. “If I can keep my work up I won’t have to, but I make no promises about next week. The week before Fashion Week is one of the worst ones we have.”

“I’ll have to see about getting an assignment at your show,” Alya said.

“Alya, you know I adore you, but you’re not a fashion writer,” Marinette said sweetly. “Why don’t I just get you a ticket?”

“Well, that would be easier, I guess,” she admitted.

Marinette laughed, Alya smiled, and Marinette’s heart swelled. “Besides, you have your own things to work on. How is that follow-up story going? From the bust back in August?”

“It’s going slowly, but well. Madame Nguyen approved it as a _potential_ story, which basically means I can write it, but can’t waste a lot of billable hours. I’ve just been transcribing my interview with some of the kids who were involved.” Alya smiled automatically as she talked about the kids. “They’re so impressive, Marinette. The way they just get back on their feet after going through shit like that? Some of those girls are so sweet. They don’t want you to know it, oh no, but they are just tender, and gentle...they draw me pictures. Nobody ever draws me pictures!”

“Ohh, bring me some! I’ll put them on our fridge!”

Alya grinned. “Absolutely. I’m not going back there today, though...but I have a couple on my desk I can bring! Marinette, you would just _love_ those kids. I know you would. Maybe one day, when they’re out of protective custody and you’re out of the sweat-shop that is Fashion Week preparation.”

“Ma jolie, I would _love_ that,” Marinette gushed, her mouth wrapping around the word _love_ as her eyes filled with Alya’s hazel gaze. “When I’m less busy, absolutely.” She talked more about her upcoming work and all the details that still needed to fall into place, Alya interjecting to talk about her article for today, following up on a burglary in a spice market. She was so animated when she spoke and referenced her phone frequently, continually checking to make sure Marinette understood. Each sip of coffee made her voice tick a little faster.

She was just so...everything. So beautiful, animated, enthusiastic, supportive, and caring. Alya was more than willing to make Adrien’s favorite chicken that night, marking it down on her to-do list as they chattered and stealing a few kisses that tasted like coffee. Alya was a full, complete and incredible person and so very much _Alya Césaire_ that it was no wonder Marinette could physically feel herself falling in love. She could feel it in her fingertips and in her curling toes and in the enormous lump in her throat.

“Alya,” Marinette croaked out, her shaking fingers reaching for a hand. She couldn’t tell her today. No, it wasn’t fair to push that on Alya without talking to Tikki about the secret a little more. But she was reverberating with love and would absolutely explode if she didn’t express it somehow.

“Yes?” Alya asked patiently, smiling softly. Marinette didn’t have an answer yet. She glanced around the room, looking for something to say. Her love was too much to fit in her body and god, she just wanted to be _one_ with Alya, somehow. But Alya waited quietly, fiddling with a loose strand of hair while Marinette chewed on her lip. She laughed. “Yes, girl? What is it?”

“I...don’t know. I want to hang out more. I know we have work soon, so we can’t do something longer...but I want...you need to...I wish we …you’re too far away!”

Alya raised an eyebrow and smirked. She scraped her chair once, twice, thrice, four times against the slick tile floor until she was sitting thigh-to-thigh on the same side of the table as Marinette. Alya wordlessly picked up her croissant and tore off a chunk, just a hair away from Marinette’s own face. She was so close, Marinette was sure that Alya could feel the heat radiating off of her cheeks. “Is that better?”

So Marinette cuddled into place with her chin on Alya’s shoulder and bit into her own pastry. “Yes, it is.” She closed her eyes and continued to chew. This close to Alya, she could hear Alya’s mouth work its way around the breakfast and feel her swallow a swig of coffee. She could hear the loud, crisp crunch of pear against Alya’s teeth and smell her bodywash on the nape of her neck. She could feel strong fingers lace around Marinette’s hip and drum a pattern against the hem of her shirt. She could sense time going by, remarkably improved and incredibly slower in this bubble of morning with this wonderful girl. And when Alya had paused from eating and Marinette nuzzled her face upwards to find her, she could taste Alya’s lips between her own and hear the softest whine when her tongue dared to taste Alya even more.

She wiggled in her seat to find a better position to kiss, daring to brush a hand into Alya’s hair and kiss her deeper. “Marinette,” Alya chastised in a voice that sounded more like a whimpering moan against Marinette’s lips. “You can’t start that here.”

“Why not?” Marinette asked, kissing the corner of Alya’s lips, then her cheek, then her jaw. “It’s Paris. The city of love. And I’m…” she kissed the pulsepoint on Alya’s neck, warm lips resting there as Alya’s pretty pulse pounded.

“Your parents will kick us out,” Alya explained. A beat. “Although...if they do...isn’t your old bedroom just up those stairs?”

“It’s actually up three flights,” Marinette muttered. “One flight to get to the house, one to get upstairs, another one to get to my room. But it’s not that bad. You’re strong. You could do it.” Alya chuckled, tugging Marinette in tighter to her side. So Marinette peppered more kisses along her lovely neck and nuzzled herself into that soft, colorful hair. “Are you going to dye your hair again one day?”

“One day, absolutely,” Alya agreed. “Did you have a request?”

And for whatever sappy reason, that mere idea, that Alya would bend her appearance to the will of Marinette, made her giggle and squirm even more. “I’d have to think about it.”

“You think about it, choupette. I could make it white...purple...blue...like your _eyes_ -”

“Alya…”

“-black, or indigo. Yellow, even...I’d be a terrible blonde, but you could request it.”

“Alya,” Marinette said again, giggling softly. “Your face will just make any color you choose that much more beautiful.”

Roughly, Alya grabbed Marinette’s face and forced a kiss against her lips. “God, you’re terrible, Mademoiselle. I can’t take you anywhere.” She kissed her again. “You’re such a beautiful romantic sap.”

Alya kissed Marinette’s forehead and stood up, lightly tossing her half-eaten pear from one hand to the next. “My next article is going to be about how Paris’s standing as the city of love causes an epidemic of tardiness in the workplace and you, ma coquine,[7] will be exhibit A.”

Marinette’s smile was something wicked as she pulled Alya back down, making her yip in surprise. “I’ve never cared for punctuality.”

She was about to kiss her when the back of Marinette’s head received a sharp smack with a newspaper. “Your mother has, though,” Sabine said sternly. Marinette turned to look at Sabine, Alya’s collar still trapped in the crook of her finger, and tried to smile. “Do _not_ bring Alya down to your level, Marinette. Get to work, you two! And stop making out in my bakery.”

“Were we disturbing the customers, Maman?” Marinette asked, furiously blushing as she stood up and tried to clean the table off, knocking the rest of her coffee all over her pain au chocolat and the floor in the process.

Sabine sighed, dropping a rag over the spill and shooing Alya and Marinette away from the table. “No, not the customers. But your father wouldn’t get back in the kitchen because he was too busy trying to get a video. He almost burnt an entire batch of baguettes!”

“Sorry, Maman,” Marinette said, grabbing Alya’s ice cream and then Alya’s hand and making for the door. “It won’t happen again!”

She tugged Alya away from her frustrated mother and wove around customers while Alya laughed. “Why are you laughing?” Marinette asked. She pushed open the door with her backside, letting Alya out first. “You know I’m clumsy! Or was it Papa?”

Alya shook her head. “ ‘It won’t happen again’? Marinette. You _lied_.” She chuckled and kissed Marinette’s searing hot cheek, then plucked the carton of ice cream away. “See you tonight for that coq au vin, girl.”

\---v---

Rena Rouge was first on the scene at a multi-car pileup at Rue Saint-Jacques and Boulevard Saint Germain. She had left Boulangerie T&S just minutes earlier, practically skipping on her now-much-improved Monday morning, much more in-tune to the joy of the world than usual. Alya had been walking close enough to hear the crash, and when Rena arrived, she immediately set to work creating an illusion of detour signs for all the five roads feeding into the deadly intersection. And then brought her attention to the Peugot 106 and little red Clio tangled together. One car was crushed, the other wrapped around it, engines shooting out flames as passengers tried to help unconscious drivers.

She’d heard the squealing tires and metallic crash while her mind was still replaying the intimate morning with Marinette. It had been the kind of morning that left her heart full and her head buzzing, full of laughter and kisses and so much joy that it overflowed for the rest of Alya’s morning so far. It had been the kind of morning where her mind was screaming _I love you!_ _I love you! I love you!!_ Even if her tongue couldn’t manage it yet.

So Rena Rouge was twirling from car to car, lifting out passengers. True, they had fear and injury and insurance claims on their mind. But Rena couldn’t get Marinette out of hers, so every scared citizen met a smiling, giggling superheroine.

Just a minute after Rena began her illusion, she heard a familiar voice call out, “Hey, Renardeau!”

Rena spun on her toe and brightened even more at the sight of Chat Noir. “Chaton! Good morning! Ladybug, good morning!”

Chat Noir raised an eyebrow. He looked around at the smoldering Peugot and then back to Rena. “'Good morning' seems a little subjective right now, Rena.”

But Ladybug barreled over his sassy reply, singing her own, “Good morning, Rena Rouge. How can we help you?”

Chat Noir snapped to his partner, tail erect. But Rena seemed unperturbed by the comfortable greeting. “Could you help put out the fire and help the passengers in that car?”

“Absolutely,” Ladybug replied. She bounced on the balls of her feet over to the car, greeting the terrified passengers as if they were at a drive-in restaurant. Rena nodded, pleased with how efficiently they were all helping. God, it was a _beautiful_ morning to be efficient. “Rena Rouge?” Ladybug asked, calling over her shoulder, voice still more musical than commanding. “Did you take care of traffic?”

“I set up a detour illusion, but it only has three minutes left. Chat, could you set up something more permanent, please?”

“ _Please?”_ Chat balked. “Wh- Rena, what’s wrong with you?”

Rena set the last passenger into the watching crowd and sighed happily. She adjusted his hair and wiped a spot of dirty smoke off his face, the spun to face Chat and replied, “Absolutely _nothing_ is wrong.” And then the 106’s engine exploded.

Rena yelped and jumped a good 5 feet in the air, As did Chat, and Ladybug squeaked in surprise. But then Rena started to laugh at her own reaction as she jogged away from the car. “Ladybug, do you have a fire extinguisher or something?” She stopped on her heels near Ladybug, head tilted and one hand on her hip, the other fanning her face. God, these explosions were warm. _But god, Marinette’s lips were warmer._

“I can see what my lucky charm is, sure,” Ladybug agreed, smiling and nodding. And ignoring the way Chat looked at them with furrowed eyebrows and agape mouth.

But then Chat spoke. “Wait. I’m just. I’m not following this. Ladybug, I know why _you’re_ on cloud nine and happy go lucky. You, uh, you told me. But Rena, why are _you_ actually getting along with her?”

Rena shrugged. But even as she claimed to not know, her tongue ran over her gums, tasting the last reminders of Marinette’s kisses. “Just had a really good morning so far.” Her zipper blinked again, so Rena bounced and added, “Chaton, the barriers? I have to get out of here.”

“You go on, Rena Rouge,” Ladybug said, waving her off. “Chat and I can take care of this until the firefighters arrive.”

“Thanks, guys!” Rena sang out, waving to them both before taking off in a run. Ladybug called for a lucky charm behind Rena’s back, chattering optimistically with the crash victims. Chat was already heading down one alley to set up a new barricade, so the exiting Rena went in his direction. As Rena passed him by, she leap-frogged right over his shoulders. “Bye, Chat!” As she landed in front of him, Chat reached out and grabbed her tail.

“Rena, it’s your girlfriend, isn’t it?” Chat asked as she spun around.

After an enormous sigh big enough to get lungs full of smoke and car exhaust, Rena grinned. Then she responded by sliding up to him and putting one hand on his shoulder, another pointing at the sun and she started to sing slowly in her lowest voice, “Le ciel bleu sur nous peut s'effondrer…”[8]

Chat threw his head back and laughed. The familiar, cheesy _Hymn of Love_ . Rena sang louder, now pointing at the road as if it would cave at that exact moment, “Et la terre peut bien s'écrouler...Peu m'importe si elle m'aimes!”  [8]She threw her arms into the air dramatically, walking backwards and singing to the sky, “Je me fous du monde entier!”[8]

“You crazy, lovesick fox,” Chat laughed, waving her away. But as she sang, _she didn’t care._

Imaginary orchestras filled the sky, choirs singing the rest of the song, the joyous soundtrack to Rena’s escape from the explosive car crash left behind. Truly, love had flooded her morning. Absolutely, her body had trembled under those soft hands. And completely, she didn’t care about anything but the girl she loved.

Music rang in her ears as she ducked in between two overflowing dumpsters to let her transformation drop. Trixx spun into the air and into her bag. And when Alya climbed out of her hiding spot to finish her waltz to work, Marinette stayed in her mind the whole way. Truly, not even Ladybug could spoil a morning like hers.

And for whatever blessed-by-the-gods reason, Ladybug hadn’t even tried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 "C'est quoi, ce bordel?": The French version of "What the hell" that literally translates into "What is this brothel?"  
> 2 "Alya got Marinette’s attention and rubbed her fist on her nose.": A gesture that means "drunk" to the French.  
> 3"CE2": "cours élémentaire 2", which is for 7-8 year olds...roughly 2nd grade in the US  
> 4"mince": Shoot, darn, etc  
> 5"bac": short for "Baccalaureate", the major test that the French spend all of lycée preparing for. It's as if finals and college applications and the ACT all had a baby and that baby's job was to punch you in the face.  
> 6 "bon matin doudou": Good morning darling (doudou, by the way, is specifically from creole French!)  
> 7 "ma coquine": You might recognize this word; Ella and Etta used it earlier to mean something along the lines of "sexy". As I said back then, a "coquine" is kind of flirty, kind of a tease, kind of a sexy woman who knows what she wants and how to get it, but typically a positive phrase (not always). It's certainly positive here. She's saying Marinette is her "flirt".  
> 8Lyrics to "Hymne a l'amour", a BEAUTIFUL and cheesy, overdramatic Edith Piaf song. “Le ciel bleu sur nous peut s'effondrer/Et la terre peut bien s'écrouler/Peu m'importe si elle m'aimes!/Je me fous du monde entier!”: "The blue sky over us can collapse on itself/and the ground can very well cave in/Little matters if she loves me!/I couldn't care less about the whole world"  
> ALSO...later on in the song, Edith Piaf says (in French, of course)"As long as love will flood my mornings/As long as my body will tremble under your hands/The problems make little difference to me/My love, because you love me." (so that really pretty writing is Edith's, not mine.) And then she says, "I will go to the end of the world/I will dye my hair blond/If you ask me to". If you remember, Alya told Marinette she would change her hair any color for Marinette, including blonde. I imagine that was when she started thinking of this song. :) [Now, go listen (to this version with translation) and get fluffy feels.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1XXAxeE-HQI) (The chapter title is a reference to this song, too. Because I am also a fluffy, overdramatic sap.)


	11. Visiting Hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hold on to your seat belt for a little bit of emotional whiplash this chapter. Things are about to get rockier in our story again...
> 
>  **Content Warning: References to child prostitution, Descriptions of prison inhumanity.** Second section.

\---i---

A little more than a month and a half of dating Alya, Marinette was absolutely positive she was in love. She had gotten seconds away from saying it out loud multiple times, she’d expressed her feelings repeatedly to Tikki and Adrien, and she’d typed the words thousands of times before erasing it. But neither girl had said it. From the look in Alya’s eyes, Marinette felt like it was a matter of time. A game of chicken. After all...saying “I love you _too_ ” while harboring the biggest secret in Paris felt a lot less dishonest.

As for now, they were easy, they were comfortable, they didn’t need anything more complicated. They were sugary-sweet text messages at work sandwiched between stupid jokes and requests for errands. They were weeknight dates, weekly errands together, discussions of coworkers and friends like they knew them after years. They had a toothbrush and a drawer for each other in their apartments. Marinette left more coats than any girl should own in the first place hanging in Alya’s closet, and Alya’s favorite Dutch oven pot had moved into the cabinets of Marinette’s kitchen. They were mid-September Saturdays where Alya hung out in the corner of Marinette’s workroom, overhearing her girlfriend overwork herself and her coworkers before Fashion Week, at least until Alya could convince her to leave for the evening. They were comfortable silences on the metro and slow strolls through Alya’s arrondissement with easy conversations.

On this particular mid-September Saturday, the air was brisk around them and smelled like pastries. The conversation was as far from Fashion Week as both could get it- Alya described her newest article assignment, an exposé on a local hospital, and Marinette listened in intrigue. She added her own comments, as she always did, earning a kiss for every one Alya found brilliant.

They were kissing a lot this particular afternoon.

The walk meandered past a few alleys, some shadier than others. Marinette wondered, not for the first time, if Ladybug should patrol Alya’s neighborhood more frequently. Especially the nights Alya stayed alone. Empty stalls where booksellers and farmers had worked during the day provided benches for teenagers, ignored by the Parisians along their Saturday afternoon strolls, running errands and clutching cigarettes.

Eventually, Alya ran out of things to discuss with her article. “I’m not sure what I’ll be covering next week. I kind of wish I could plan ahead, but honestly, the most exciting pieces to write are the stories that don’t even exist a day in advance,” Alya said.

“I’m nowhere near organized enough to do that,” Marinette said, shaking her head. “Short deadlines do not do any favors for my creativity...I suffered from _so_ much anxiety in college and lycée when people would just spring ideas or commissions on me.”

Alya chuckled sarcastically. “You, Marinette? Anxiety? I could never imagine.”

Marinette stuck her tongue out cheekily. Alya laughed and squeezed her girlfriend’s shoulders. “That’s why we were in such a panic today, you know. If Paul hadn’t sprung that last minute change on the color palette of the-”

“Dis-donc[1], Marinette! No, no!” Alya interrupted, slamming a hand over her mouth. She let it drop once she saw Marinette’s understanding pout. Alya waved to the arrondissement around them. “You know the rule. This is a no-Fashion-talk zone! It’s your day off, girl. Or, it’s supposed to be.”

“I can’t help it, Alya. It’s taking up my entire brain!”

“Think of something else. Find something else to talk about... _no Fashion Week_.”

“Fine, fine...euhh…” Marinette’s eyes tracked onto a poster, plastered onto a nearby wall. It had a marijuana leaf on it, making arguments for legalization. Memories of an unfinished conversation on the rooftop of the Louvre flashed in Marinette’s mind. “Hey, Alya...can I ask you a political question?”

“Do you ever have to get my permission?” Alya asked back, smirking at Marinette.

“Do you think the criminalization of marijuana is racist? In France, I mean?”

Alya puffed up her cheeks and let out the air in a raspberry. “That’s a great question. Originally? No, I don’t. I haven’t really researched that enough to give you an answer I’d be proud of, but I _do_ think the arrests are. I’ve met way more black French in jail for possession of beuh [2] than white French.”

“So you think the police arrest more black French?”

“Exact,” Alya agreed, sighing a little.

“But that’s unconstitutional. That would be illegal.”

Alya chuckled. “You don’t think it happens anyway? Smoking weed is illegal, too. And obviously,” she gestured in front of her, “it happens. We don’t have real statistics of whether or not more black French are arrested for the same crimes as white French-”

“Because it’s unconstitutional to judge us and separate us by race, like I said.”

“Right, but...see, that’s another thing, girl. If we’re not _allowed_ to measure the problem, how are we going to prove there’s a problem to fix?”  [3] Marinette was quiet for a moment, so Alya continued. “You know there’s racism in France. I mean, ya girl is a black Martiniquaise from Marseille, living in Paris. And you’re half-Chinese. You know there’s racism, because we’ve lived it.”

“Of course,” Marinette agreed. “I don’t get it as bad as some people, but even just today, Maman got another terrible review online because she’s doesn’t look European. Papa’s family are immigrants, too, but the customers don’t care about that. He looks more French to them.”

“Yeah, and you don’t get it as bad as your Maman because you’re so cute,” Alya joked, squeezing a cheek.

Marinette swatted her hand away and asked, “Are you saying Maman isn’t cute?” She laughed as Alya sputtered, grabbed her hand and pecked her lips. “Sorry. You were saying...we have to prove there’s a problem?”

Alya laughed softly. She squeezed Marinette’s hand and continued their walk, crossing another street and brushing up against the autumn coats of passing Parisians. “Yes. I’m a journalist, so I believe in sources. Anecdotes are not as powerful in providing change as statistics, unfortunately. Anecdotes help, my articles and stories can make waves, but politicians like numbers. Something that doesn’t rely on emotions. I’ve actually seen idiots try to convince me- _me_ , an opinionated, educated black woman- that the banana-throwing thing those idiot sportsfan racists do _isn’t_ racist.  [4]I mean...how can you be that damn stubborn?” Alya rolled her eyes and tugged Marinette’s side. “Girl, never read the comment section of your own work.”

“You know I do.”

“I know you do. Anyway, research that specifies _who_ is being treated what way, even if it has to dehumanize us and put us into boxes of race for that purpose, can be beneficial. At least, I think so. It’s a good topic for an opinion editorial.”

“I don’t know if I’ve thought of it like that. I just want people to see us as French, you know? You, me, and Adrien are all French. We’re all Parisians- oh, Alya, you’ve lived here for over three months, you’re going to have to accept it some day…- I want to live in a world where it doesn’t matter where our families lived before or what color we are, just what we do and how we change the people around us. I want to be Marinette, the designer, not Marinette, the _Chinese_ designer.”

“Do you get called that?”

Rolling her eyes, Marinette explained, “Usually when someone is new or isn’t part of Acharné and is looking for me. It would be worse if we didn’t live in the city, I bet.” They turned down the corner, walking a little slower past a fountain blowing a cool mist.

“I want to get to that kind of culture, too. I’m not saying I want us labelled and marked. Besides, how can you really box and label everyone, when we’re all different combinations of things? But I want solutions, Marinette. Not just platitudes. When I tell my kids that it doesn’t matter what they look like, I want to be telling them the truth...because if you and I had a kid right now and I told that black-Asian baby that their race didn’t make a difference, I’d be lying.”

Marinette’s blue eyes froze on Alya’s cheek, noticing how she was chewing on the inside of it, worrying and thinking seriously. But Marinette's heart was choking her throat; all serious thought was replaced by giddy thoughts of love. “If we had a kid?”

Alya rolled her eyes, but smiled. “You absolute dork; we’re having a serious political discussion and you focus on _that_?”

Marinette grinned and reached out to tickle Alya’s ribs. “You want a black-Asian baby?”

“One who looks like us! Shut up, you think about it, too!”

“You can’t prove that, Mademoiselle.”

“I’ve talked with Adrien; I think I can.”

“Anecdotes!” Marinette announced, running ahead and turning around to stick her tongue out at Alya. “Anecdotes are not as powerful as statistics!”

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng, you can’t say that! You’re not even using it right!”

Marinette squealed in laughter and took off running away from Alya, darting around Parisians and leaping over bollards. She looked over her shoulder and squealed again- Alya was right behind her! Also laughing, just as quick on her feet, and she looked unfairly attractive slipping between parked cars. Marinette rounded the corner and darted into a park, running with even more abandon and glee.

She swerved around trees, jumped onto and over a bench, skirted around an accordion player, and nearly ruined a game of chess before she had to stop to catch her breath. Alya was just a meter or less away when she screamed and jumped impressively high in the air, landing with a tackling hug on Marinette.

The two girls laughed as they collapsed onto the grass. Alya pinned Marinette down by the wrists and grinned at her. Her eyes glittered almost primally and the way Alya bent to nuzzle Marinette’s face felt so instinctual, Marinette didn’t even stop to think it was odd. She just giggled and complained, “Your hair tickles!”

“It does, does it?!” Alya asked, then proceeded to waggle her head over Marinette’s own, the ends of her hair trailing all over Marinette’s face. She screeched and laughed until Alya joined in and crashed her entire body weight on top of Marinette. She stayed there for a second or two before rolling onto her back, side-by-side with Marinette, curled against her. Marinette’s pulse was still racing from their sprint through the streets of the 15th arrondissement, her body just now cooling as the cool mid-September air danced over the light sheen of sweat.

They laid in the grass quietly, just staring up at the gray sky pooling and tumbling above them. Their hands and fingers tangled. “If we adopt, would you still want them to look like us?”

“Naw,” Alya said easily. “If we adopt, I just want it to be some kid who really needs a home. You know? There’s so many of them. I care more if we go the biological route. If you have the baby, I want it to have a sperm donor who looks like me. Or vice-versa.”

“So if you carry the baby, we have to find an Italian-French-Chinese sperm donor?” Marinette asked, turning her head to look at Alya instead of the sky.

Alya turned to match her gaze and smirked back. “Ideally one with a bear of a father two meters tall and a mother who’s barely more than one.” Marinette giggled at her joke, but Alya continued, “with crystal, sky-blue eyes, tiny soft freckles, hair so black it shimmers blue, a cute little chin, tiny soft hands…” She leaned in and kissed Marinette, then added, “And soft lips.”

“You want a baby with soft lips?”

“Marinette, I swear to god, you aren’t getting _any_ children if you keep those jokes up.”

“You are going to be a great mom, Alya. I can’t imagine someone better to raise a kid.”

Alya snuggled closer to Marinette, looking proud as she said, “Continue with the compliments and I will consider that previous stupid joke null-and-void.”

Marinette snuggled right back and cooed in a sickly sweet voice, “You’re so pretty, and such a good writer, and so dedicated, and so crafty, and so sexy, and so intelligent, and so-”

Alya laughed. “Alright, alright. I forgive you.” Marinette cheered, waving her hands in the air above them both. The girls laughed again, laying quietly in the grass and listening to the faint noise of the accordion. Marinette closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, getting a whiff of Alya. Evening was coming on, as were the electric streetlamps around the park, and most of her perfume had worn off. But her smell was still so good and comforting. And Alya was incredibly cuddly.

Eventually, the busker stopped playing. Marinette was about to complain when something wet dropped onto her face. She scrunched her face and opened her eyes just in time to see a drop of rain fall again, right onto her cheek. “Alya, it’s raining!”

Alya was already grunting and standing up, complaining, “Yes, I noticed. Come on, that’s our sign to go home…” the rain began to patter faster, so Marinette pulled herself up and into Alya’s grip. Alya wiped rain off her glasses. “We’re only two blocks from my place. I can make dinner instead of buying it...let’s go!”

“It’s falling faster, Alya,” Marinette said, once again announcing what her girlfriend could easily see and feel for herself. But she squeaked regardless and pulled Alya along, splashing through the noisy, wet grass to get out of the park and onto the sidewalk.

Once there, Alya unbuttoned her black wool jacket, ignoring Marinette’s questions until she could throw it over both of them, leaving herself in a sweater and honestly, leaving them both just as wet. The jacket, meant for a _dry_ fall afternoon, wasn’t really the best umbrella.

But regardless, Marinette gripped one sleeve and Alya gripped another, the two girls running hunched over like a four-legged gremlin down the emptying street. The rain picked up even more and the sky rumbled angrily. Puddles formed between stones on the pavement, splashing up and soaking Marinette through her pants and down to her left sock. She grimaced, feeling it squelch with every step.

Around them, umbrellas snapped open and to the sky, including a few familiar Ladybugs. Marinette did a double-take when she saw one particular umbrella rise; orange with a zig-zag white stripe around the edge and wire-tipped ears sticking straight up into the rain. Was that a…

Alya didn’t see the fox umbrella, or maybe didn’t care, instead pulling Marinette down the street and eventually to her building. She left Marinette under the wet wool while she tapped in her security code and the buzzing door let them in. Inside, it was warmer and drier and the normally depressing hallway to Alya’s apartment felt like a sanctuary from the rain outside. “Oh, wow, I’m ready for some hot cocoa,” Marinette announced.

“Me too. Or vin chaud![5]”

“Alya, chérie, I’m cold now. Not in an hour.”

Alya chuckled. She and Marinette climbed the stairs and as Alya jingled her key into the lock, she agreed, “Okay, hot cocoa it is.” As Marinette had grown used to, Alya stepped in first and looked around quickly, as if afraid there might be something missing or something Marinette shouldn’t see. Then she opened the door wider and let Marinette in. “Oh, and I have chocolate chip cookies to eat with the hot cocoa, too.”

Marinette smiled. “Thanks, ma jolie.” Tikki would appreciate that...Marinette would have to drop one into her purse. Or two. Depending on how the night went. Not to say Tikki disliked staying at Alya’s apartment; she seemed very comfortable there. But staying hidden in Marinette’s purse at Alya’s house had to be lonely for a kwami used to living with two humans who knew her secret and her own kwami soulmate as a roommate.

“You go put on warm, dry clothes. I’ll get the milk started and then change…” Alya hummed pleasantly. “Maybe I’ll change into pajamas. We can keep talking in pajamas and over hot cocoa. It seems like the right thing for a rainy fall night, doesn’t it?”

Marinette was already digging through Alya’s impressive flannel collection for a replacement outfit. “You know, you’re taking to the cold Paris a lot better than I expected, Mademoiselle Marseille.”

“Me, too,” Alya laughed. It probably helped that Alya wore multiple sweaters at a time, Marinette thought. “I think it’s because I have someone for cuddles.”

Marinette giggled. She found a good shirt to wear and stripped down to pull it on, then followed suit with pants and a pair of Alya’s sweats and socks. By the time Marinette’s clothes and Alya’s now stinky wool coat were hanging over the shower, Alya was the one changing into pajamas and the pot was bubbling and frothing with warm milk. Working as a team, Marinette slid on her socks over to the kitchen and found two mugs. Her mind swam with images of cuddling Alya through more fall rainstorms. Maybe, if they were lucky that year, even a blanket of snow. Adrien would build a short, city snowman, Nino and Kiki would join in a snowball fight, Tikki would hang mistletoe all over the apartment. And Marinette would cuddle Alya for the entire season.

She was still imagining it when arms wrapped around Marinette’s waist. Arms covered in the fuzziest pajamas Marinette had ever seen Alya wear, covered in little cartoon raccoons and foxes and bears. Marinette closed her eyes and leaned back into Alya’s grip. She could hear the rain patter against the window, a staccato soundtrack, calm and loving.

If  Ladybug was needed, Marinette couldn’t promise she would show tonight.

 

\---ii---

Alya glanced at the clock at the corner of her laptop. 17:05...she was going to be late if she stayed at work any longer. “We’ve got to go,” she said under her breath, just loud enough for the tiny kwami hidden behind their propped-open novel. Trixx poked their head out from behind _Le Comte de Monte Cristo_ and looked up at Alya. “I need to get there before it’s dinnertime...we’re having dinner at Marinette’s tonight.”

“Aww, Marinette’s house? Why can’t we make it at ours? I thought you had a lot of fun on Saturday,” Trixx asked as quiet as they could.

“Fashion week starts next Tuesday, Trixx. She needs the shortest commute possible. Tom and Sabine are serving dinner _and_ cleaning up- you know they wouldn’t be able to do that at our place! Marinette needs the help tonight.... And then,” Alya closed her files and her laptop, sighing pleasantly. “She’s taking _vacation time_.”

“And us too, finally! We really need it. You log way more than 35 hours a week [6]…” Trixx flipped a page in their book. “I’ve read through entire genres waiting for you to stop working so much.”

Alya chuckled. She flicked Trixx’s ears and responded quietly, “Yes, we're taking vacation, too. Not as much vacation as her, though...I’m still sort of new here and everything. Now get in the bag before- oh, Lorraine, hi!” Alya smacked _Le Comte de Monte Cristo_ flat onto the table, making Trixx squeak in protest, which Alya tried to cough over. She smiled as innocently at her boss as possible. “How can I help you?”

“I’m glad I caught you before you left for the night, Alya. I finished reading your draft for the follow-up piece.”

Alya blinked in surprise. Her follow-up article on the child prostitution ring bust had been a heavy, long piece. Full of interviews, stuffed with facts as well as anecdotes, set in six different locations. It had been Alya’s pet project for the entire month, worked on in between quick articles about superhero proceedings and city maintenance. “You read it all? I sent that to you twenty minutes ago!”

Lorraine smiled wide. “I was excited to see it come in, what can I say? I’ve got my edits for it, but I know you, Césaire, so I’m not sending you that email until tomorrow morning.”

Alya threw her head back and whined. “ _Madame_ , why even bring it up if you’re just going to torture me with the unknown all night?”

“Oh, chut. You know you’d end up working on it if you had the edits.”

“Isn’t that a good thing? Besides, my job tonight is to keep Marinette awake and supported while she fixes things for Fashion Week...I’ll have a lot of free-time. We could publish it by Thursday’s paper!”

Lorraine chuckled and put a hand on Alya’s shoulder. “I’m perfectly happy with _Sunday_ , like we agreed. It’s a think-piece and isn’t time relevant...give the Sunday readers something to really think about and talk about all week. Besides, I want to give you time to fine-tune it. Real, in the office time. Not time that you’re supposed to be off of work.”

“Time to fine-tune it...so it’s merde right now?”

“Mon dieu, not at _all_ . Alya, it’s…” she blew a raspberry and rubbed her temple. “I’ll say this. Have you already contacted Jean-Claude? At _La Marseilles_? Because this piece...Alya, you deserve to double dip that paycheck on this one.”

Alya grinned. She had already drafted her email to him, honestly. Told him to save a spot for her article once it was approved. She knew Marseille would eat it up. “I can do that, Madame, with your blessing.”

“Césaire, you got it. You should be raking it in before you leave us for two weeks. Maybe with extra play money, you will be too distracted to work while you’re out.”

“Maybe, but you know I can’t help myself,” Alya laughed.

“You must, or la boîte[7] is going to kill us both.”

Alya stood up and lifted her bag, trying to surreptitiously slide _Le Comte de Monte Cristo_ and her hidden kwami into the bag without Lorraine noticing. “Honestly, since Marinette’s off of work at the same time, I’ll be distracted enough. So you really liked the follow-up? It didn’t feel like a cheesy sequel? A waste of journalism?”

“No, no. Not at all. It feels like exactly what the readers will want. Criminals facing justice, victims getting treatment. I went nuts over that tonal shift from the visit to the prison and the visit to the treatment home. I think you could implement the quotes from the hotel manager as a sort of mirroring-technique. Framing would be too cliché, honestly, but...oh, damn, you’ve got me giving notes! I wrote it all down for you, okay? Wednesday. You can read it tomorrow morning. I really just came over here to tell you I finished it, not…” she waved her hands uselessly, “to monologue.”

Alya smiled wide, appreciating her boss’s genuine enthusiasm and support. It was always familiar and welcome. “I figured you weren’t here to compliment my article on the new paint-job for the recreation center.” She joked.

“Hey, we’re a daily paper. Not all assignments are winners. And your fluff pieces can be good, too. I actually liked the one about women-friendly urinals. I’m just saying for as much fluff as we put out... this shit? Your initial report of the bust and this moving follow-up?” She tapped Alya’s desk again. “This is why I got into journalism. This is reporting. What happened, what came out of it, and why. Anyway, I know you’ve got somewhere to be...we’ll workshop this tomorrow. I’m stopping by Madame Nguyen’s office before I leave; I think she’d like to take a look at it, so I can use her notes to guide our work tomorrow. You know how possessive she is over the Sunday issue.”

Alya nearly choked. “Madame Nguyen?”

“Well, yeah. God, Alya, she’s our boss, not the Empress of France. Your article is clocking in at eight pages right now, so it _obviously_ needs some pretty severe cuts, and she can help with that. It would knock out a huge portion of the Sunday paper. Don’t worry. It’s good. She’ll like it.”

Alya inhaled through her teeth. She knew the article was good, but _Karen Nguyen_ good? Okay, so honestly, Karen read everyone’s articles before submission of an issue to the printer….there was nothing quite as awful as getting an article approved by the department head only to have Sabrina track you down to inform you it had been cut last minute by Madame Nguyen herself. But to have her look at something unfinished? Chills ran down Alya’s spine. Both of terror and of a wave of confidence. “It wouldn’t be any good without the private interviews, so... God bless the press pass, right?”

“And your anonymous sources. A press pass alone wouldn’t get you into an abuse victim treatment home and you know it. Buy a cake for that anonymous source of yours.”

Alya laughed. A press pass didn’t get her into the treatment home. But a miraculous did...and maybe she did deserve to buy herself a cake. What flavor said _Lorraine thinks Karen Nguyen will like this_? “Will do, Madame. I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?”

“At eight or later, Alya. I’m serious when I say la boîte is going to kill us if you keep working overtime. I don’t want to see you at four in the morning tomorrow!”

“Lorraine, you’ve only _seen_ me at four am on the days you sleep here.”

Lorraine pulled on her shirt collar, coughing out, “Yeah, and la boîte will kill us both if they knew that’s ever happened, too. Just make it at regular time, okay? You’re _not_ getting that email in your inbox any earlier than sunrise.”

“Oui, chef,” Alya said with a sassy salute. She shouldered her bag and walked to the elevator, just barely overhearing as Lorraine went to talk to the next journalist who was staying later to meet their deadline.

She got in the elevator and pulled out her phone to check the time: 17:12. “Merde,” Alya muttered. So instead of clicking to the main floor, Alya selected the 7th, which she knew was empty by four pm and should not even have the cleaning staff yet. “But Trixx, you heard all that, right?”

“Of course I did, girl. You’re killing it! I’m excited for that article!”

“Me, too. But I’m too worried about being late to be excited right now…” Alya groaned, tapping the already-lit 7 a few more times.

“We won’t be late, Alya. Don’t worry,” Trixx chirped. “And even if we’re a little late at the safe house, we won’t be late for Marinette.”

“I don’t want to be late to either, Trixx. This is important to me.”

Trixx was quiet for two clicks of the elevator’s chain, long enough for Alya to glare up at the security camera for existing, then they said, “You would think we would have tried visiting victims before if it’s so important to you.”

“You know why I don’t. It’s not what Rena Rouge does, Trixx.”

Trixx snickered. “No. It’s what _Ladybug_ does.”

The elevator doors opened at the same time as Alya’s mouth. She scowled down at her kwami and pushed their head with her thumb. “You twerp! It’s not at all the same!”

“Aren’t you checking on their well-being? Isn’t that what Ladybug does? Famously so? Haven’t you even _written_ about it?”

“Yeah, exactly. Nobody will _ever_ write about these visits. They aren’t for publicity.” She strode out of the elevator with a purpose, announcing, “Besides, I don’t make a habit of it. This is a special exception. And it was basically Marinette’s idea.”

“You mean visiting the victims to help write your article?”

“Exactly!”

“...which you’ve already submitted? And yet, we’re going _again_?”

Alya stumbled to reply. “Well, it would be suspicious if I stopped visiting once Alya’s article comes out. It’s...she’s an exception, okay?”

“I’m sure Ladybug started with an exception, too.”

“Oh, _tais-toi [8] _, Trixx. And transform me.” Moments later, Rena Rouge took off at a run to the window.

It wasn’t long before Rena reached her apartment. She jimmied open her window and slipped in between the glass and the windowsill. She was only a few steps away from the front closet when her flute rang. “I don’t have time for a delay,” Rena grumbled. She pulled open the flute, nudging it between her cheek and shoulder as Rena opened her closet and fished around. “Ällo?”

“Rena Rouge! You’re out!” Chat chirped, delighted.

“What do you need, Chaton? I’m in a rush,” Rena replied. She pushed two heavy coats out of the way, ones Marinette teased her for already wearing in September.

“Fighting robbers with one paw tied behind your back?”

She gripped her black trench coat and pulled it tightly, sending her hanger into a spin which flipped Rena in the forehead. She winced. “Something like that. So I’m kind of busy; I can’t exactly get to you right now!”

“Oh, I actually don’t need you right at the moment, Rena.”

Rena frowned. She carefully tried to maneuver her way into the coat while holding the flute as a phone. “Then is this a social call?”

“No. I needed to tell you that Ladybug is unavailable tonight, so I might need your help if something comes up. I just got off work and thought to let you know before it’s too late!”

Rena rolled her eyes and snarled. She flipped her collar up and tucked her Fox-tail hair inside the coat, then stood on her toes to try and find the hat stuffed in Trixx’s part of the closet. “What do you mean, ‘unavailable’? Isn’t she supposed to be the Savior of Paris? She can’t just take that title and then have a fondue party instead.”

“She’s not having a...Ladybug is very...she’s...out of town,” he answered.

Rena frowned. Since she couldn't smell Chat's breath through the phone, she had to trust his excuse...and it was a good excuse. But she didn’t have to like it. “Fine. I can step in for her. But I’m busy tonight, too,” Rena said, fitting her ears under the matching black hat. “I really need to be there for my girlfriend tonight. So don’t expect me to be at your disposal the whole time.”

“Je compris, mon amie![9] I’ll only ring you in when the fur starts to fly.”

“Okay, chaton. I’ve got to go.”

“Fight fair!”

“I never do,” Rena laughed right back. She heard Chat hang up and did the same in kind. Her flute found its place on her suit and she deftly buttoned herself up, hiding as much of her body as possible.

As quick as she could, Rena was out the window again and took off for the shaded roofs. Rena ran south, above the lights of the city and under the overcast, dark sky.

It was a long trek, one that she intentionally twisted and turned on her way, through the residential boring parts of Paris and down unattractive streets. The graffitti was significantly less colorful than near Alya’s apartment, the houses were a little older and a little bigger, the roofs a little flatter. She slipped into shadow to pull her coat and hat over her costume, muttering to herself as the ears pressed into the hat. Her long coat covered the flat tail and when pulled tight, the black ends of her suit looked simply like gloves and boots. But she felt completely ridiculous.

Ridiculous or not, Rena pushed on, sneaking around on just a few more roofs, well out of view from the uncaring pedestrians.

Finally, Rena Rouge dropped down. She was in front of a nondescript house in the 17th arrondissement, the opposite side of Paris from her home, but just as far from the tourist central. Her hat and coat hardly obscured the costume in its entirety, but no one here got into anyone else’s business. No one bothered you if you looked like you knew what you were doing. And Rena was good at looking like she knew what she was doing.

She pushed her way into the main floor of the building, a small épicerie[10], and went to find the stairs that would take her to the residential floors. Or, at least, what the public assumed to be residential floors. Through the course of regular journalism and a great deal of personal investigative work, Alya had found one safe house where Child Protective Services kept the children who were recovering from abuse and staying in protective care from those who hurt them before. She was, as often the case, her own anonymous source.

She reached the door and lifted a gloved fist to knock. Rena looked up towards the security camera and lifted her hat to reveal the mask she wore. In response, a man opened the door a crack to greet her. “Mademoiselle Rouge, hello,” he said, finally opening the door enough to let her step in. She did, and only then shed her uncomfortable second layer of disguise. The receptionist smiled a little wider and pulled Rena into his thick arms and bear hug. A reaction that was incredibly different from the first time this guardian of abused children saw the violent vigilante of  Paris asking to come in. “It’s wonderful to see you again! It’s been about a week, hasn’t it?”

“Just five days, Rolf. How is she?”

“Anne?” He asked, using the fake name- the only one Rena knew for this girl. “She could do to see you. She’s...she’s feeling…” he sighed. “One of our social workers can prepare you better. Let’s get you checked in.”

The two went through Rena Rouge’s unique sign in process. It wasn’t like she could leave a driver’s license, exactly. Finally, Rolf lead her to Lilette, a social worker on Anne’s case who chatted with Rena on their way to Anne’s bedroom. They past by a few small children playing in the hall, all who gasped and pointed excitedly at Rena Rouge. One ran over to touch her leg, then sheepishly ran back.

Most of the children here weren't saved by Rena- they knew the heroine from previous visits or from the stories the older kids would tell. Regardless, a lot of these children liked the sight of a lady dressed as a Super Fox. These kids didn’t know Rena’s reputation as anything but a savior for a few of the older ones.

Her tail was tugged more than once. But afterwards, the children ran to hide, habit shaming them from their silly, harmless games.

At last, Lilette knocked on a white door; Anne’s door. “She’s a little prone to outbursts today. It’s very good that she’s feeling more emotions and addressing her thoughts on the trauma. But it can be frightening.”

“I get it,” Rena agreed, nodding. Outbursts were, in Alya’s opinion, much better than the empty shell that Anne lived as when they first met, and for the first few weeks after that. She had found those cold, empty eyes too intense to forget and made one of her exceptions to visit Anne; something Rena only ever did three times before in Marseille. Always with a child. Typically with one who reminded her of one of Alya’s own sisters...she just couldn’t help herself.

Lilette opened the door to reveal a room in soft pastel yellows. It did it’s best to hide its identity of a hospital room; the bars on the window were painted white and paired with breezy curtains, the monitors all sat near a television, and it had a cozy reading nook. The girl from room 613 sat on her bed, coloring silently. She didn’t even look up when Lilette walked in. Not until Lilette said softly, “You have a visitor, chérie.”

Anne looked up to see who came to visit. Her skin was much more rosy, her bruises were gone and scars were healing, and her lips had some real color. But her eyes were as vacant as they had been while she was chained to that hotel bed.

Rena’s eyes flit to the barred window and the restraints that hung unused, but certainly noticeable, off the bedside. She wondered if Anne was truly any less chained here.

Neither hero nor victim spoke. Not until Lilette awkwardly said, “...Would you like to greet your guest?”

Anne shook her head.

“Oh. Should Rena go home?”

Again, Anne shook her head. She looked away from the women and looked instead at the arm chair near the reading nook. Rena had visited enough to understand that. With a curt nod, Rena walked over to the armchair and sunk down. She grabbed the nearest book, providing Anne with company without pressure, until Lilette shut the door.

Well. Certainly no outbursts right now. She and Anne read silently across the room from one another for a good ten minutes before Rena heard her relax on the bed. She looked over the top of her book and at Anne, watching Rena quietly with empty eyes. Rena’s lips quirked to a slight smile. “Are you ready for your illusion already?” She looked around the room, adding, “not the most exciting of places for you here.”

Anne’s voice was scratchy from lack of use, even when she said, “It sucks.”

Rena smirked and nodded. “Yeah, girl. It does. But hey, La Police rounded up the rest of those good-for-nothing’s connected to Bill. They’re rotting in prison like him. You should be out of this place and finding your new home sooner.” She caught a flicker of a smile on Anne’s face. A familiar one. A lover of _justice_. “So, where to today? Provence? Brittany? Disneyland again? We could try London, or Los Angeles. I could show you my home in Marseille again- you didn’t get to see the Calanques last time.” Rena grinned, remembering her own visits at Anne’s age. “The water is so blue it doesn’t seem real. Or maybe Switzerland? Or-“

“Val-de-Marnes,” Anne replied immediately.

Rena paused. Her ears twitched and she calmly answered, “the...euh, the château there?”

“No.”

Drumming her claws on her thigh and running out of innocent answers, Rena offered, “Then, the woods on the Marne River?”

“Fresnes,” Anne replied, steel in her voice. Rena frowned. Fresnes prison. The new lifelong home of Bill, Anne’s once and former pimp. Rena didn’t even have to reply before Anne fought, “I want to see the torture he’s going through.”

Alya had visited Fresnes. She’d interviewed Bill and reviewed the infamously inhumane conditions of the prison for her follow up piece on the child traffickers. “That’s a terrible place, Anne. You don’t want to go there. Not even for four imaginary minutes.”

“You can’t tell me what I want, Rena Rouge.”

“I’ve seen that place. Anne, you don’t want to go there. You don’t want to see him again! He already stole so much of your life. Don’t let him steal any more.”

“He’s stealing it, like it or not,” Anne snarled back, throwing her book aside. “I still see him when I fall asleep. I still feel them when I shower and when I dress. And when I see him, I see that godawful smile. Rena Rouge, do you know why I let you visit? Huh?”

 _Because I saved your life?_ Alya thought. Anne readjusted her position on the bed and answered her own question. “Because I _don’t_ see my last abuser like that. You want to know how I remember that connard?” Rena flinched, hearing that language coming from such a young mouth. “Bleeding from his nose and mouth, laying on the floor, broken bones, crying like a baby. Black eyes. Bruised. A loser.” Her eyes flashed and her lips quirked twice, like a reflex. “I see him as weaker than I am. I remember him as defeated. The way _you_ left him. I just...I want to see Bill like that, too! I don’t want to remember him as Daddy anymore!”

And Rena understood that. She really did. If anyone understood how powerful it was to see evil men put in their place and to see how justice could be exacted, it was her. She was the executioner of her own justice, and she loved it. But she didn’t love what followed; she didn’t love the fearful eyes of the victims she rescued, or the nightmares that haunted her sleep. She didn’t like praying to Papag’uy and loa Marinette to find the broken, bruised bodies she left on the street. She didn’t like the way it changed her.

There was a reason Alya never dreamed of having Ella or Etta take the sheep miraculous or being her partner, and there was a reason that Rena Rouge never even met little Billie. She loved her life and she lived with her choices, but she wouldn’t dare wish them on a child.

With ears flat against her head, Rena said, “Anne...I can’t...do that to you.”

Anne crossed her arms, pouting. “Why? Because I’m not strong enough? Because I should just be happy with fake trips to Disneyland?”

“No. Because seeing people like that...that shit messes you up, girl.”

Anne stared back at Rena. And then she laughed. A laugh as empty and humorless as her eyes. “You don’t think I’ve gone through worse already? Please. I just want to...feel…” her voice dropped lower and eyes turned away. She didn’t finish her sentence, but the word hung unspoken between them and in the air... _safe._

And so Rena stared a little longer at the girl. The only victim she’d ever visited multiple times like this, preening and fussing and checking in. It helped that most victims were downright terrified of her anyway. And hadn’t this been Alya’s problem that had her writing the follow-up in the first place? Wasn’t she haunted by the questions of _where are they? How are they?_ for both victim and perpetrators alike?

She stared at the way Anne looked out the window, between the white bars and past the locking shutters. Maybe there was another feeling Anne missed, too: freedom. How many years had it been for her?

 _I’m going to fucking regret this._ Rena picked up her flute, put it to her lips, and played the sad song of Bill Berger.

Haze filled the safe house room until only Rena and Anne on her bed existed in a thick cloud of gray fog. Out of the fog, a large, threatening brick building climbed into view, surrounded by overgrowth. Thick black iron bars covered all the glass, shutters against any sunlight that might try to pierce through the thick gray sky.

This illusion was bright and bold without a shimmer of imperfection because this illusion didn’t stem purely from Rena’s imagination...it was plucked directly from Alya’s memory.

So Rena and Anne began to float closer to the building, following the eyesight of Alya. Momentarily, the building faded from view until they reappeared inside its entrance hall. The entrance was lit with cold incandescent lights, official documents and a publicity photo of the president's visit on the prison walls. Wardens and officers acknowledged the two visitors with their eyesight only; no greetings or even friendly nods.

Once again, the vision shifted until the entrance had become the halls of Fresnes Prison. Discolored cement walls with patchy, peeling paint, cement floors, and flickering lights that buzzed; background noise to the shouts and yells of the inmates. Unintelligible yelling. They seemed to float down the prison and Anne kept an eye on the conditions. The sight of leaks, the smell of excrement and sweat, the taste of rat pee in the air itself.

Finally, the settled outside a prisoner’s block. A 10 meter square with a toilet, freckled with aged red splotches, the only thing like decoration, and a cramped bunkbed, thin sheets falling off its edges. Two men resided inside. One laid down on a metal slab on a thin blanket and the other sat facing the wall. A harsh voice of a warden shook the second man, making him turn.

He seemed almost unrecognizable. Sallow skin, a patchy beard, and his eyes...his eyes were wide and nearly as blank as Anne’s. But he twitched and jumped at the sight of the warden, then began to look every which way, avoiding eye contact wherever he could. His fingers drummed along the cement and Rena caught sight of what was left of his fingernails; chewed until the skin was peeling away in layers, raw and splotchy, with dirt pushed against the cuticles. He looked past Anne; since Rena was sharing her memory, she couldn’t imagine his reaction to her existence. She still wasn’t sure that would be a good idea anyway. The warden spoke with them both, then led the men away from their block towards the place where Alya had originally held her interview.

Bill tried to run. He groaned and yelped and yipped like a dog, pushing past the warden and directly into the arms of two guards, who pushed him right back onto the cement floor. “Come on, you nut. Get off the ground, racaille[11].” One kicked Bill, who shrieked out, making the guards laugh louder and crueler. To them, he was nothing. He was a stupid, mute crazy man. A man who couldn’t fight back anymore, with a past and a history so deplorable, he must deserve his new lot in life.

Crying on the ground, blinking his eyes and swatting the air, it took a few minutes of the guards laughing and kicking his bruises before the warden sighed and stepped in. “The press is here to see him. He has to go.” He waved towards Anne and Rena, standing in the place where Alya once had.

The guard looked up, staring directly between the two at the invisible Alya. “Who wants to see this fucker?” he asked, grunting and lifting Bill off the floor. “What are you gonna do? Record him drooling everywhere? Jot down his screams?”

The second guard chuckled. “He’s not the most reliable source, Madame.”

There was an awkward silence as Rena and Anne watched the scene. This was where Alya had replied, _I’m writing a sort of ‘where are they now’ piece on the men behind the child trafficking bust a while ago._

And the first guard grinned. “Then you don’t want to miss out on the racaille’s trick. Watch this…” he leaned in, grinning wickedly and put his mouth next to the jittering, twitching head on Bill’s shoulders. “ _Rena Rouge_ ” he said.

All hell broke loose. Bill screamed, pulling wildly against the second guard and swinging a punch, which landed in the guard’s face. So the first guard reacted immediately with his thick, wooden baton, right against the back of Bill’s knees. He crumpled to the ground, crying and shaking, muttering, “renard, Rena, renard, Rena, renard, Rena, renard,” on repeat- so quickly and so quietly, it was impossible to differentiate the name from the animal.

The warden yelled at his guards, waving his arms before bending down himself to lift up the prisoner. But the moment the warden touched Bill’s body, he shrieked as if burnt. “The angel’s bruise!” he yelled out.

“He’s crazy,” one of the guards muttered. “What the hell does that even mean? ‘Angel’s bruise?’”

As if answering, Bill writhed into an arch on the floor and shrieked out, “ _Blood!_ ” and began to sob. Louder, harder, and shakier.

Rena took a step back and had to close her own eyes. There was no man before her anymore. This shell, driven mad by the images that formed his own guilt, was more imprisoned by his mind and cursed memories than any walls of Fresnes Prison.

Rena’s eyes stayed shut, but she was not willing to end Anne’s specially requested vision for her own comfort. She could still smell the rat pee, the body odor, the desperation that hung on Bill’s breath with every scream. She could hear his sobs and his shouts about children, blood, and foxes. She wished she couldn’t; hearing it the first time had been enough for her. But the sound of her miraculous’ third ding reminded her why these sounds and smells and sights were worth it.

When Rena opened her eyes, she looked over at Anne. “It’s almost time to go,” she warned. “Did you want to see anything else?”

Anne glanced over at Rena long enough for Rena to see her eyes flicker with warmth. The type of warmth that matched her smirk and sold the emotion _satisfaction_ and told a tale of justice. “Does he do that around kids, too?”

Alya remembered asking a handful of triggering questions to Bill. As she remembered, the flashback literally flashed before their eyes. Bill, chained for their own safety to a table where a lonely recorder sat. _Why did you target children?_ Rena remembered asking.

 _“_ No, no, no children! No children! No! Keep them away! Away!!” He tried to climb up on the table, yanking his wrists so hard against the metal restraints that skin turned white. Drool slipped out of his mouth as he shook and screamed. The two seconds of eye contact were more than enough. He couldn’t answer the question about the past, but the future was certain...he would never target children again. Likely, he would never even see one for the rest of his tortured life.

So Rena looked back at Anne, who leaned backwards with a smug smile. She nodded once, Rena dissolved the illusion, and the two once again appeared in her pale yellow bedroom. With only one minute left, they didn’t have time to say much. Frankly, Rena wasn’t sure what she would want to say. Anne, though, apparently did. “I’m glad,” she said. Rena didn’t reply; she rarely did. “I’m glad he’s crazy. I’m glad he’s gone. That means…that means I won.”

The splinters squeezing Rena’s heart warmed just a bit and her tight lips fought to smile. “Yeah, Anne, you did. You won.”

“I _fucking_ won.”

Rena chuckled. “You probably shouldn’t talk like that, girl.”

Anne looked at Rena, her eyes filling up. She didn’t smile, but her voice sounded the closest it had ever been to happy when she replied, “You’re a terrible example of how to talk, Rena Rouge.”

“You got that right.” She ran a hand through her hair, flipping back her ears while she sighed. “Promise me you won’t go crazy like he did, right?”

“I don’t plan on being tortured ever again, so...okay.”

Rena shook her head, smiling again. She recognized that sarcasm. Alya had learned to cope with years of fighting the crime and horrors in Marseille. She’d learned to get past death and dying, violence and threats, torture and pain. Maybe she wasn’t the most well adjusted person in Paris, maybe she wasn’t the sunniest super-hero around, but she was pretty damn satisfied with her life. Right?

Maybe Anne would be okay, too. As long as she knew she won. As long as she knew she always beat Bill. “I gotta go, girl.”

“I know.”

“Don’t tell anyone I talk to you. Got it?”

“Your secret’s safe with me. You don’t tell them I talk to you, either,” Anne smarted right back.

“Deal.” Rena winked and backed up to the door, slipping out and speeding down the hall to the receptionist and the exit. As her final warning beep rang out, she scrawled our her exit paperwork and dashed into the hallway, slipping into a public bathroom and transforming back into Alya in the stall.

Alya sighed and collapsed onto the tile floor. Trixx found their way to Alya’s hand and nuzzled their charge. Neither spoke.

It took a bit for Alya to get off the floor and up to wash her hands. No one had come in, but she knew better than to risk leaving a stall without at least pretending to follow social mores. Trixx poked their head out of Alya’s hair, admiring their reflection.

Alya looked into the mirror to meet Trixx’s eyes. “Do you think I did the right thing?”

“I think ‘the right thing’ is always different. It’s different for Anne than it would be for someone else. And it’s different for you, too.”

“Do you think it was the right thing for Anne and for me?”

“Using my illusions to cheer up a child is one of the most wholesome ways you’ve ever used them, Alya. It’s beautiful. And it’s not something you have practice with...it’s a little goody-goody for Rena Rouge, you know?” Trixx winked. “A little Ladybug of you.”

“Trixx, shut up about that! You know this is weird for me.”

Trixx seemed to oblige, instead saying, “Okay, real talk, girl? I don’t think it was the _best_ thing for Anne. But I think it helped, you know...I don’t think it was _bad._ I mean, she’s probably imagined a lot worse.”

Alya blinked. “...so did I do good? Or not?”

Trixx burrowed their way through Alya’s curls and all the way to her cheek, rubbing it affectionately. “You did the best you can. And that, Alya, is a lot of good.”

“You don’t think she would be better off without my involvement? I mean, I only risk it because she’s already in a _safe house_ , so…”

“You care about her, and right now, that’s what she needs. Alya, this is a really good thing you’re doing. I promise.”

Alya stared at her reflection and sighed so dramatically, her shoulders lifted all the way to her ears, then back down. So, this is who she was becoming. Someone who worked with partners and helped sick kids in hospitals. That didn’t mean she was losing who she was...Alya smiled weakly. “Stop me if I let my morals get questioned and start making a public spectacle of myself and my victims.”

Trixx laughed. “Oh, I don’t think it will ever get to that point. But you’ve got my word.”

“And stop me if I ever try and _lecture_ our victims into submission, too.”

Trixx laughed even harder. “Yeah, girl, that won’t be a problem for you.”

Alya smiled softly. She tilted her head to the side, nuzzling a cheek against Trixx. Her kwami lifted their body and traced their tail along Alya's jaw, then settled back into her mess of hair. "I've got that, then." She pulled out her phone to check the time; just barely after 19:00. "Okay, let's go down to that épicerie on the ground floor and get you something to eat. We're a long way from Marinette's and I'm not going to be late."

"You know, you keep hanging around her and you'll just keep getting softer," Trixx teased, song in their voice.

Alya was already on her way out of the bathroom. She snorted. "So it's Marinette's fault now, not Ladybug's?"

"I didn't say it had to be one or the other," Trixx responded. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1"Dis-donc": Multi-use interjection similar to "wow", "hey", "look", "by the way", "listen"...this is honestly my favorite thing to just pepper into conversations in French. You're all very lucky I don't use it in this story every time I think it would fit. Hah! It's used to call attention or refocus the conversation, among 1000 other uses.  
> 2"beuh": Weed. This is verlan, which is a type of city-slang that inverses words. Marijuana first becomes "herb", which inversed becomes "beuh". We read this first in chapter 6, during the conversation that Marinette is currently bringing up.  
> 3 "...It's unconstitutional to judge us and separate us by race...how are we going to prove there's a problem to fix?": CULTURE NOTE: In France, you can't legally collect statistics that separate information by race. This is all with good intention, like Marinette said, but the practice has opposition, like Alya said. I don't live in France or talk to French often enough to host a perfection discussion on this practice, but I do know that I'm not the first person to struggle when looking up fact-based information on racism in France.  
> 4"...banana-throwing thing those idiot sportsfan racists do..." CULTURE NOTE: There's this terrible, racist tradition in Europe that seemed to start around the 1980's, where "fans" would throw bananas at black (especially African-born) athletes AS THEY PLAYED ON THE FIELD! what! the! heck!!! It still happens every now and again. There was a big rush of it again in 2014. Just google it if you don't believe me or understand why that's racist. I don't have enough characters in the footnotes to get into that.  
> 5"vin chaud": literally, 'hot wine'. Basically mulled wine!  
> 6"35 hours a week": CULTURE NOTE. The 35 hour work week is the legal limit in France for full-time work. Anything more than 35 is overtime. This often means longer lunches, which works nicely since France loves their big, important lunches. And on top of that, the French get at LEAST 5 weeks of vacation, minimum for full-time. Most people take a full month off! It's a big difference compared to American work culture, and I found [this article](https://www.cbsnews.com/news/france-less-work-more-time-off/) really lined up with what I experienced in France as well.  
> 7"la boîte": Literally, "the box", but think of this as "HR". It's their word for the office, or the part of the office that handles administration, hours, paychecks...etc  
> 8 "tais-toi": "shut up". WAY back in Chapter 3, I mentioned that there is a variety of ways to say "shut up", all different levels of severity. "Tais-toi" is one of the most gentle ways. Something you'd say to a loved one, maybe even a child. But, I mean, you still want them to shut up, so it's still not LOVING.  
> 9 "Je compris, mon amie!" Literally, "I understand, my friend!" And I left it in French because it rhymes, and Chat would never miss a chance to rhyme that easily.  
> 10épicerie: grocery store, but a small one that is usually on the main floor of a multi-purpose city building, like a bodega. Literally, this means "spice store".  
> 11racaille: derogatory word, similar to scum, trash...usually reserved for a deplorable person. We don't really have an equivalent. Google translate will tell you "riffraff", but "racaille" has so much more bite...he's not a neighborhood hooligan.


	12. Published

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this story is now so long, keeping it in one google doc was making the file sluggish. And we've reached the last chapter in my "Part One" google doc...the chapter where everything is about to fall to pieces.  
> Buckle up, buttercups. It's a bumpy ride.

On a typical Sunday morning, Alya likely wouldn’t be up at 6 am. But today wasn’t a typical Sunday. The sun wasn’t even up yet, and the cool air rising off the Seine was enough for her to pull Marinette’s fuzzy coat tighter around her shoulders. It brushed her newest hickey, less than 10 hours old, with a pleasant burn. She waited at the newstand on the street-corner for the delivery boy with a cup of coffee in hand. When his truck puttered down the street, Alya could not contain her excitement anymore, screaming and jumping the moment his truck pulled to a stop and he hopped out. She grabbed him by the shoulders, spinning him around and kissing both cheeks the moment he stepped out of the truck. “Good  _ morning _ , monsieur!” 

“Good morning, Madame,” he answered stiffly. Alya stood watching, clapping her hands and bouncing on the balls of her feet while he snipped loose the strings holding piles of  _ Le Parisien _ ’s together. She squealed yet again, recognizing the picture that sat on the top of the page. Thank  _ god _ for a slow newsweek! Above the fold, there was a large photo of H ô tel  Vivolée with unaware Parisians walking past one or two glancing at the unmistakable form of Rena Rouge, crouched on one leg in the foreground of the photo.  One of the newspaper photographers had caught her on one of Rena’s many patrols of the hotel before she put her obsessive energy into writing the piece at Marinette’s suggestion. The photographer was delighted to pass it along to Alya when it became relevant.

And yes, it was relevant. It was  _ front page, Sunday issue _ relevant. Alya grabbed the top copy, holding it close to her chest and bounced up and down in delight. She didn’t notice when the delivery man left, mumbling about insane morning people. “Trixx!” Alya said, eyes skimming the article in black and white, the words as familiar as a favorite song. “Trixx, look!”

Trixx mumbled their way out of Alya’s bush of hair, blinking long enough to see the newspaper. “It looks like every other one of your articles, Alya.”

“No, it doesn't. It’s on the  _ front page! _ The front page! God, my name looks good at the top of the paper like that.  _ Alya Césaire _ . Come on! Let’s get breakfast!”

“I don’t. Like. Mornings.”

“I’m not going to make you transform this morning. We’ll walk, I swear,” Alya argued.

“It’s cold in Paris. Can’t I stay in the apartment and snuggle in the kitchen?”

“With what? The blender? Dis-donc, Trixx. You’re coming with me.” 

“Breakfast better include a lot of ice cream.  _ Vanilla _ ice cream,” Trixx snarled, backing up into Alya’s hair again. Alya could feel Trixx wander around to make a little burrow while she headed down the street to the nearest bridge. She walked the entire way to T&S boulangerie, holding the folded newspaper under her arm with the picture pointed out. This early on an autumn Sunday, Paris was quiet. The boats slipped by on silent water, cars made their way almost exclusively to churches, and the rustling of dying leaves was as loud as any conversation got.

At least, until Alya pushed through the boulangerie doors.

_ “Alya, chérie!” _ Sabine called, voice full and arms spread wide. Sabine was not behind the counter but at one of the many empty tables.  _ Le Parisien _ sat open on the table next to a mug of something warm and chocolatey while Tom stood at the counter, sniffling loudly. “Alya, come here, come here!” Sabine hastily wiped her eyes with her sleeve and stood up.

“Madame, bonjour, what’s wrong?” Alya asked, reaching Sabine and immediately receiving a crunching hug.

“Oh, nothing’s wrong. I just finished reading your article out loud to Tom. It was long! Oh, Alya, it was so,  _ so _ good.” She sniffled again. “I cried!”

“I can tell, Madame,” Alya said, hugging her back. “You really liked it? You’re not just being biased?”

“Oh, not at all. Honestly, I wasn’t sure I would like it...you were a little hard on Ladybug, and you know how we feel about her. But the ending...the way you described those sweet children, that sweet little girl. All their hopes and fears. Oh, Alya, children shouldn’t have to live like that! Tom, Tom, dear, do you remember how young Ladybug and all the other heroes looked when they saved Paris all those years ago? Alya, it’s just like that. The children of Paris need to be  _ children _ .”

“You know,” Tom spoke up, “Sometimes I feel like as a culture, we don’t let our children play long enough. We expect them to be adults. That’s not how it is in other countries...it’s things like Le Papillion and things like your story that show us what that does to them. They don’t...they... _ ehem _ ...they shouldn’t have those kind of...thoughts! I’m sorry,” he stepped aside and blew his nose into a paper towel, blinking quickly. “I’m sorry, Alya. It’s just...it’s so vile. To think, it happened here in our city.” He sniffled loudly and pounded a fist on the counter. A puff of flour circled Tom’s head as he roared, “I need to give those children pastries!”

“Oh,  _ mon gros _ , that’s a wonderful idea!” Sabine cooed. She grabbed Alya’s hand, asking, “Do you think the anonymous source who sees those children could bring them cookies for us? Macarons, in every flavor! Ladybugs, Chat Noirs, our new Rena Rouge cookies!”

“Pain au chocolat! Religieuses!” Tom added. “And lots and lots of cookies. Chocolate chip, like Marinette used to make at their age!”

“Could they do it, Alya?” Sabine asked again.

Alya laughed, running a hand through her hair as she imagined Rena Rouge with a plateful of cookies. “I’m sure I can arrange some sort of system. Maybe the headquarters in downtown Paris can accept donations and bring them to the kids...they would love that, Madame et Monsieur.” She looked between the two of them, their red-rimmed eyes now brimming with hope and excitement. “Oh, before I forget, I came to get breakfast for Marinette.”

“Oh, of course you did,” Sabine said in a rush. “You didn’t just stop by for accolades. Is she planning on another full and busy day?”

“Unfortunately,” Alya agreed. “She’s supposed to be asleep still, but I saw her set an alarm for 7.  Edouard decided on Friday night that he wanted to change all the colors of all the accessories, so Marinette stayed up until 2 last night redoing an entire purse. That’s her plan for the day- redying and remaking accessories because Edouard is a needy little prick.”

“My pour choupette,” Sabine muttered, busying herself with a sack full of breakfast and treats for Marinette. “We just have today and tomorrow to deal with this. She’s a different kind of crazy during Fashion Week itself, but it’s a  _ better _ kind.”

“As long as she doesn’t break her accessories or leave garments at the apartment,” Tom interrupted with a chuckle. “I love my daughter, but she would lose her own head if it wasn’t on her shoulders. I’m so glad she has you to help her during Fashion Week.”

“I’m dedicated, monsieur,” Alya agreed. 

Sabine finally handed her a heavy sack. She explained, “There’s a fresh baguette in there- traditionelle, of course, and I put in a pot of our favorite Breton butter. Three croissants and three pain au chocolat; I’m not sure what you three will want to eat. Besides, you can have some snacks for the busy working day. I gave you some peaches, a nectarine, three oranges, some kiwis... _ of course _ , some ice cream, and a little wheel of camembert for Adrien. Do you have orange juice at the house? Or milk? I can heat up some milk and put it in a thermos for you!”

“Madame, it’s fine,” Alya laughed, toting the bag. “We have enough. Merci beaucoup, both of you. I won’t even be at their apartment long today.”

“Oh?” Tom asked, surprised. “Why not?”

Alya felt her face warm a little. “I’ll just drop off breakfast and then I’m picking up Marinette again at 17h00 so she doesn’t overexert herself. She said I’m, euh,  _ distracting _ , so I’m not allowed in the apartment until 17h00.”

Sabine began to smirk, but Tom still seemed confused. “I thought you were such a big help on Friday night! That nuit blanche?[1] When we left after dinner and you kept helping her right until morning!”

“Oh, I was helpful! But then...I wasn’t so good at... not distracting her...on Saturday,” Alya admitted. She avoided their eyes, memories flooding her mind and threatening to flood her core. “But to be fair, we were both really tired from the night before, so judgement was a little...euh...”

Sabine started to laugh, shaking her head. “I’m sure it was appreciated.  _ Stress-relief _ and everything.” Alya’s face grew even hotter, but she was determined not to show it, instead just rolling her eyes and covering her shaking hands with the bag of treats.

Tom glanced over at his wife, asking, “what was stress relief?”

“Alya distracting her, mon gros,” Sabine explained. “You know... _ distracting  _ her?”

Alya forced a laugh and backed up against the glass door. “I’d better go deliver these.” But Tom and Sabine were still talking in low voices. Alya could see the exact moment that Tom understood what  _ distracting  _ implied. “Goodbye!” she squeaked, slipping past the door and out of their watchful eye.

\---

Five o’clock came around on Sunday evening with a ring of an alarm, a squeak from Tikki, and a knock at the door. Marinette’s head snapped up from the shoes she was re-embroidering and her smile split her face. “Tikki, that must be Alya!” She scrambled to her feet and nearly tripped the entire distance to the door. Enough time for Tikki to hide while she swung the door open. “Alya, come in! I’ve missed you!”

“You missed me? I thought I distracted you!” Alya teased, stepping into the door and wrapping herself into Marinette’s arms. 

Marinette kissed her soundly on the lips, humming, “Why do you think I missed you so much? Oh, Alya, it’s been so stressful all day. I still have so much work to do before Tuesday, and Edouard has been pestering me all day about getting the right shade of aquamarine. Of course I got the right shade! I have the damn fabric samples in front of me and I was  _ there _ when he bought the fabric dye. He tells me I’m the only designer he trusts to recolor the project, makes me put aside all of my own projects for this, and then insists that I might be getting it wrong? I close my eyes and I can still see aquamarine! I’ve dyed the damn  _ thread _ aquamarine, yes, in the right shades, and…”she paused, then collapsed her head against Alya’s collarbone. “I need to get out of this apartment.”

“That’s why I’m here. To take you somewhere you won’t even  _ think _ about fashion.”

“Alya, it’s Paris, two days before Fashion Week. Where could we even go-”

Alya grinned. “Le Chouff’bar.”

Marinette narrowed her eyes. “Isn’t that...a sports bar?”

“Yep! And the Rennes vs PSG[2] football game started three minutes ago. It is going to be too loud for you to think about anything to do with Fashion at all. And trust me, no one there will be thinking about fashion, either.”

“That sounds terrible and perfect. Let me get ready and then we can go.”

Getting ready for Marinette meant changing into something sort of sports related (her World Cup Champions T-shirt purchased earlier that summer was the best she could find), swapping her bun for pigtails, and of course, making out with Alya for a good ten minutes. She missed her a lot, alright? And it wasn’t like they could make out during the football game at the bar.

Well...maybe they could...but it wouldn’t be as comfortable as Marinette’s couch.

Along the metro ride, Alya told Marinette about her lunch with Michelle Omnes from work and how she and Nora had a long discussion on the phone. The conversation carried them all the way to Le Chouff’bar, which the girls could hear long before they could see.

Marinette and Alya pushed their way into the crowded bar, past whooping and hollering football fans to find an empty spot. Some fans, shouting English cries of delight and frustration, crowded in one area of the bar. The majority of the crowd waved their beers at the screens showing the Parisian players in their French Cup game. Luckily, since Alya and Marinette had no interest in the televisions, the empty tables away from any screens were perfect for them. Marinette looked around the crowd and giggled. “You’re right, Alya. I don’t see any aquamarine here at all.”

“Your girl knows you, choupette,” Alya responded, booping Marinette’s button nose. “I’ll get us some bread and cheese for the wine.”

“Wait, before you run off, do you have  _ Le Parisien _ ?”

“Oh, of course!” Alya answered, pulling out her phone. She tapped around a couple of times to get to the article, saying, “I have a physical copy for you, too. It’s already at the apartment.”

“It  _ is _ ?” Marinette asked, eyes wide. 

Alya chuckled. “Yep, I had Adrien’s help to find a good place to hide it when I dropped off breakfast; you can find it in his bathroom under the sink. He and I agreed it would probably distract you.”

Marinette leaned over towards her, cooing, “Not as much as  _ you _ would have distracted me.”

“Ben oui[2], I hope not. It’s a newspaper. I’m a whole lot of woman. I can _ satisfy _ my girl. And I know my writing’s good, but it’s not as good as la petite mort.[3]” She winked and set her phone down in front of Marinette, pulled up to her article. Alya pecked Marinette on her warm, blushing cheek. “I’ll be back.”

Marinette picked up the phone, smiling in pride from the very opener: “A Healing City; the Aftermath of Child Trafficking: by Alya Césaire.”  _ That’s my girlfriend. With her name at the top of the article, front page! _

 She looked at the photo, the familiar Hôtel Vivolée with Rena Rouge in front. Rena was lit in a way that really showed off her muscular legs and curvy thighs...it made for a good picture. Even if the hotel she stood by was certainly not one of Marinette’s favorite places. Marinette leaned back in her seat, smiling wide and began to read. 

  _In the Fifteenth Arrondissement of Paris, far from the streams of tourism and visitors, Hôtel Vivolée often went unnoticed and unremembered. On the 17th of August, the budget hotel in the outskirts of Paris went from unremarkable to viral overnight, and hotel manager Charlene DuVaul has done all she can to push her hotel back into the shadows of obscurity. This is no typical business model, but their moment of fame was not the typical advertising campaign. “The events of the 17th of August do not reflect the goals of our hotel,” DuVaul tells Le Parisien, “and we hope they can be forgotten soon.” Once the notorious site of an inhumane child prostitution ring, Hôtel Vivolée would much rather be remembered for sub-par breakfasts and peeling wallpaper. They want the world to forget what happened last month, but to those living the terror inside the hotel walls, that was their world. As everyone involved knows, they cannot forget their world._

 Marinette took a deep breath. Alya was really going in on this article, she could tell. She closed her eyes, remembering that night as she saw it herself...running through the hallways, both looking for children to save and hoping she would find none. The hope that her suit inspired in some, the heartbreak in others who hardly acknowledged Ladybug at all. It was a terrible night full of terrible people, people who more than deserved to go to jail. Even the shock and horror upon realizing that Alya had been inside the hotel, reporting on the incident the entire time, just unseen. Marinette was eternally grateful for Alya’s company that night as they comforted each other in her apartment, even if she could never tell Alya exactly how much _Marinette_ had needed it, too.

She read the next few paragraphs while sipping her wine. Details about the hotel itself, messages from the manager about how business had changed since and specifically what security measures they were taking to keep future patrons safer. She nodded sagely along, pleased to see Alya asking things that a lot of people surely didn’t even consider. Would they be using background checks in the future? Security cameras? Would they confirm relationships of room users, or crack down on visitors and extra people in rooms?

This is where Alya really shined. She didn’t just report the news, she helped make it. The act of asking these questions herself caused changes and reverberations that no one had seen. And Marinette had spoke with Alya throughout much of this article, since it was a pet project she did on the side. She would ask questions, follow-up for answers, and expect change. She applied pressure, she made changes, she wasn’t just reporting on the effects of that initial bust; she caused much of them. Maybe Alya wasn’t dressed in spandex and jumping into burning buildings, but to Marinette, she was every inch a hero.

Bristling with pride in her girlfriend, Marinette read the next paragraph.

_ Police took eight men into custody on the 17th of August. This included William “Bill” Berger, the pimp who controlled and abused his child victims, as well as seven men found at the scene; the ‘johns’, or paying pedophiles who illegally paid for services with the victims of the night. These men included Samuel Smith, a 27-year-old American tourist; Gerard Dubois, a 32-year-old father and bank manager; his unmarried brother, Henri Dubois, 38; Muhammad Sai, a 38-year-old florist living in Dijon; Francois Durant, a 40-year-old pediatric orthodontist; Robert Moreau, a 55-year-old commercial director and grandfather; and James Black, 67, a British immigrant who retired to Paris.  _

Marinette glared at the names, feeling an uncomfortable chill. Henri Dubois was the one who tried to run and fell down the stairs in nothing but a tie. Robert Moreau...that was the one she caught in the act, forcing himself on a young boy and triggering screaming cries that Marinette could never forget. But which ones were the men she found and bound with her yo-yo? The one Chat punched in the face before tying him to a railing? According to the next part of the article, the police were still investigating a few more men likely linked to Bill and his prostitution ring who were not at the scene of the crime. Most of the named criminals were still awaiting their sentence and residing in jail before their court date. Bill, as the leader, was the exception. She continued to read:

_ Although the seven guilty abusers are waiting for their long-term sentence and the life-long legal effects of their sexual offense and child abuse, some of these men have already begun to taste their punishment, starting the night of the 17th itself. Francois Durant, found in the act on the night of the 17th by Rena Rouge, suffers now from a broken rib and impacted stomach, broken right leg, and maintains scarring on his scalp and stomach. The orthodontist’s lawyer informed  _ Le Parisien _ that Durant plans to plead entrapment. While the evidence is stacked heavily against Durant, even if his claim works on the judges, he cannot and will not be able to escape the physical punishment already dealt by Rena Rouge. _

_ “I think he deserved it,” says human rights advocate Claire Parsol, of Francois Durant’s injuries. “He deserves everything that’s coming to him. I would not be surprised if the girl he victimized also got injuries.” Parsol’s opinion is not a lonely one, as even an anonymous member of Durant’s close family said of the criminal, “Francois is a slimy [redacted] who gets away with all of this [redacted] because he looks good, talks smart, earns a lot of money. Now, he gets pushed into the room in his wheelchair and when people recognize his injuries match up with the [redacted] who [redacted] those kids, they know who he is and what he deserves. If they don’t, I tell them those injuries are grâce à[5] Rena Rouge, and they know what’s up.” _

A hand brushed Marinette’s shoulder and she looked up into the soft smile of her girlfriend. “Hi, ma belle,” Marinette said. 

Alya sat next to her at the table, nearly shouting over the din of the bar. “I got myself a Merlot and a Chardonnay for you, but mine is better, so you might need to switch.”

“We don’t need to switch,” Marinette disagreed. She paused in talking while the British bar occupants exploded into screams of delight. They got a goal, apparently. “You should enjoy your Merlot!”

Alya shrugged. “You don’t have to twist my arm. Alright!” Marinette smiled, then returned to the article.

_ Durant cannot use his lawyer to escape the physical punishment fitting of his crime. However, many men left with La Police mostly unharmed on the 17th of August. Robert Moreau and Henri Dubois were likewise caught in the act, although caught by Ladybug. In the traditional merciful manner of Ladybug, neither man sustained any injuries above slight rope-burn from the yo-yo; burns which had completely faded and were almost forgotten only two weeks later.  _

Marinette frowned. She reread the last sentence before continuing on the paragraph.  _ Ladybug’s style is infamously different from that of Rena Rouge, as  _ La Parisien _ has frequently reported. It is most evident in instances like the Hôtel Vivolée bust, where both heroines took victims and both victims left the situation in unique states.  _

_ We met with Lucille Moreau, wife of Robert Moreau for 32 years, in their apartment in the Seventh arrondissement. Cardboard boxes filled the room, but Lucille was delighted to sit down with a glass of orange juice and tell  _ Le Parisien _ what she knew about her husband, as well as everything she never wanted to know. She explained, “Robert called me from the police station that night. Said there was this big misunderstanding, that he wanted to go home, that he was caught up in something with his work hotel. All of that was inaccurate, of course...Robert works in La Defense, so he would never need a work hotel in the Fifteenth. I’ve been with that man for almost 35 years and I know when he’s lying. Of course, there’s a lot about him I guess I didn’t know.” _

_ Lucille Moreau later connected Robert’s capture with his past. “It’s really embarrassing that Ladybug was the one to catch him. Ladybug! She’s my little girl’s idol, and she caught her father like  _ that _. I can’t even look at a picture of Ladybug’s face without imagining her finding Robert...The really funny thing is that this wasn’t his first time with Ladybug. He was akumatized back in 2006, when our oldest was just about to enter lycée. She was so soft and gentle with him when he was the victim, when he was the one abused by a crazy, gross old man.” Lucille refers to Le Papillon in this instance. “She talked to Robert about what he did at the hotel, from what she told me...yeah, I found her at a public event and asked. Ladybug didn’t seem too keen to discuss it in public, but she said she talked to him. Lectured him. A lot of good that did!” _ Marinette scoffed. What was she supposed to do? Lucille Moreau met Ladybug at her daughter’s Primarie school ‘Local Hero’ day. She was surrounded by children under ten...it wasn’t exactly the place to discuss her husband’s crimes in public! Did Mme Moreau tell Alya that little detail? 

Marinette continued to read, “ _ I used to think [Ladybug] was simply tender with victims. But now I think she’s just soft. He was caught, pants around his ankles, by Ladybug. He’s in jail, waiting for a sentence. And yet, he still tries to tell me and the kids that he’s innocent. Robert still thinks he gets to see his grandson’s first communion.” She scoffed. “If God doesn’t strike him dead for trying to enter His cathedral, Robert’s future ex-wife will.” Lucille is currently filing for divorce. “If Ladybug won’t teach that man a lesson, I at least will drain every penny he has and do my best to make his life a living hell. He’s beyond lectures and warnings. He needs direct action.” _

Marinette frowned at the phone. Alya was doing her best not to watch Marinette’s reactions, instead trying to understand whatever was going on with the Paris soccer game. Marinette scrolled down and continued to pour into the article, reading as Alya caught up with almost all of the other seven john’s from that night...most of them were nowhere near as accusatory against Ladybug, but the tilt was certainly against her. Claims that Rena Rouge’s captured criminals were more aware of their guilt than Ladybug’s, or mentions that maybe Ladybug was more tender than the criminals deserved. 

Then, the tone shifted. Alya transitioned beautifully from meeting Muhammad Sai in his prison cell to meeting a young girl with the pseudonym “Anne” in protective custody. Alya eased the transition by comparing Muhammad’s depressed, hopeless feelings as a man who used to live a life filled with flowers and the feelings of Anne. Anne, who seemed to start where Muhammad ended- feeling depressed and quiet and broken, but remembering how to smile and find hope, who had bright flowers in her private bedroom.  _ Anne currently lives in a safe-house with the other victims of Berger’s ring.They live in their protective, private location for their own safety and although these children cannot yet go back to homes and public lives until their abusers are jailed, they find home inside the safehouse. The walls are yellow and bright, they have plenty to eat and toys to play with, and there are private tutors to help these children remember what they’re meant to do at their age; learn and play. The transition back into childhood has not been easy for the victims, and some struggle more than others. Anne’s depression is not uncommon, but neither is her path to finding hope. _

_ Our anonymous source met with many of the nine children. One young boy of 15 years old was in a great mood. He was laughing and chasing after a soccer ball, running alongside one of his female peers of the same age. “I’m not living here forever,” he explained. “I have to practice my soccer every day so when I go back home, I can get on the school team.” His eyes lit up when describing his parents and his school, which he had not seen since the year before. “All my school friends have already started classes, so I’m a little worried about catching up. I’ve never been excited to go to school before!” _

There were more descriptions and brief interviews with children. Some made Marinette laugh a little to herself, a handful made her frown. Some children made her gasp out loud, or feel her throat close with emotion. One eleven year old girl had taken to pretending she was Ladybug, which, according to the social workers in the article, was her way of coping with her demons. Marinette was proud to read that, deciding she would have to ask Alya for more information so she could, well,  _ get in touch _ with Ladybug on the girl’s behalf.

And then, Alya began to describe Bill. Even her writing felt more cold and distant as she described the pimp’s current state.  _ William “Bill” Berger was not able to provide  _ Le Parisien _ with any comments. He is currently in the psychiatric ward at the infamous Fresnes Prison.  _ Le Parisien  _ readers will be familiar with Fresnes Prison as the home of recent arson attacks against personnel vehicles, the site of frequent suicides this year, and the focus of many humanitarian actions from our senators. [6] While Bill was available for meetings, his psychiatrist labels him as a ‘Disorganized Schizophrenic’, and his triggers seem to be unavoidable both in prison and in the presence of others. _

_ We spoke with Bill’s leading psychiatrist, who wishes to remain anonymous. “From our understanding of William’s past and witness statements, we do not believe he was insane before his arrest. It appears that his insanity took hold at Hôtel Vivolée and was solidified here, in the prison environment.” _ Marinette narrowed her eyes. She knew exactly when Bill went insane. She was there to see it...she had never been more terrified of Rena Rouge in her life. And sure enough, Alya’s quote continued,  _ “William’s triggers and reactions match well with other recorded victims of Rena Rouge, both in Paris and primarily in Marseille, and witness statements confirm this suspicion.”  _

_ When asked to clarify his statement, referring to Bill as Rena Rouge’s victim, the psychiatrist explained, “Yes, I consider him to be her victim in this instance. She committed an action, whether right or wrong, that had a negatively impacting consequence, which William received…. ‘Victim’ does not mean ‘innocent’. I see a lot of men here in the correctional facility that I consider victims, but this severity of insanity is fairly new to me.” We asked him to elaborate for the readers, and the psychiatrist visibly shuddered before doing so.  _

Marinette stiffened in her seat as she read his description. Alya’s writing certainly leaned heavily on the idea that Bill deserved his punishment, and Marinette had to agree, having read about all the children he led to their misery. In fact, from Alya’s writing, the punishment felt poetic- like he was experiencing everything the children felt, including the arrested development of their childlike joys. Ladybug was there to see just what he saw and poetic as it was...it was also the most horrifying thing she’d personally experienced. If it had been directed at her, using her fears, her guilt, her memories...she was certain it would have driven her just as insane.

The article continued to praise his fate, expressing without directly phrasing that it was exactly what he deserved and would last exactly as long as he deserved to be punished. Which was to say, his entire life. Marinette was a little uncomfortable as she read...yes, he was terrible. Yes, he deserved punishment. Yes, he shouldn’t get to live a happier, less traumatized life than his victims had ahead of them. But anything with the name  _ Rena Rouge _ attached to it was already a little tainted, even without Ladybug experiencing it in her own peripheral.

Alya, next to her, didn’t seem to notice as she continued to try to ignore Marinette and drink her wine, hoping to not impact her judgement. But surely Alya could tell the way Marinette began to stiffen as she read the next few paragraphs.

_ “And what about the mental state of Ladybug’s victims? The men she apprehended?” We asked the Fresnes psychiatric ward staff. “Oh, they’re fine,” they responded. In fact, the three men Ladybug apprehended seem to be less repentant than the men apprehended by police. “That’s kind of her gig, isn’t it?” Responded Chief Laurent. “Stop the crime, save the citizens, then put everything back to the way it was before. She’s not the one to change the criminals. Just a restart button.” _

A restart button? What the hell did that mean?! Marinette frowned. She knew Chief Laurent, and they got along incredibly well. Alya must have taken his quote out of context. He adored Ladybug! She kept reading,

_ Do these criminals need a reset button? Should men like Moreau be reintroduced into society with a mere lecture and handful of months in prison’s mediocre living quarters?  _

_ Ladybug’s apprehended criminals have a recidivism rate of 13%. Comparatively, since coming to Paris, Rena Rouge’s apprehended criminals have a recidivism rate of 0.12%.  _

Marinette rolled her eyes. Rena Rouge had been in Paris for less than a year! Her criminals didn’t have time to finish their sentences. So of course they didn’t have time to finish their sentence, get back on the street, and return to breaking the law. That was just bad statistics! Alya was better than this. Besides, Ladybug’s rate was lower than Paris’s average...and okay, Alya did reference that at least, later on in the paragraph. She kept reading, trying to keep a cool, level head. Her girlfriend was so proud of this article, so surely this Ladybug dragging ended soon…

... _ after years of using the same tired techniques honed as a child, Ladybug seems unable to mature to be the adult hero her child victims needed……..if anything, her apprehended criminals find more fame and success after a brush with her overblown celebrity……….a tourist trap of a hero……….a spotted bandaid……….who babies and praises criminals as if they are children who made a mistake and not adults who planned to do wrong and will plan again…….has-been…….washed-up…….outdated…….Ladybug needs to hang up her miraculous and realize that Paris stopped needing her brand of heroism over a decade ago… _

Alya’s harsh language was dotted with context and quotes, all of which made Marinette squirm uncomfortably in her chair. This was  _ her _ that Alya was talking about. Ladybug wasn’t just Marinette’s hobby, it was who she was. She read the last few paragraphs, which brought the article back to Hôtel Vivolée and the prospect of the future, all in a bit of a daze. Was this really what Alya thought? Was this really how she saw her?

Marinette stared straight ahead as she set down the phone. As her mind reeled, she finally caught Alya’s eye. 

With her mouth against the wine glass, she made a noise of excitement. Alya set the glass down and looked over expectantly. “Well? What do you think?”

Marinette glanced quickly at Alya and then away. “Um, it…” She cleared her throat. “Don’t you think it was a little harsh?”

Alya tipped her head slightly. “Harsh? Against whom? Bill Berger? I mean, he kind of deserved it.”

“No, not him. I thought you wrote his stuff well. I meant  _ Ladybug.  _ You were really harsh on her.”

Alya bit her lip. “Was I? I think I was honest, really.”

“Honest?”

“The article was about the aftermath of the Berger ring bust. And she did her job during the bust, sure, but now that the dust has settled…? She’s just coming off...well…”

“What? How do you think she’s coming off?”

Alya gave a condescending half-smile and said, “like a temporary fix.”

Marinette scoffed. “Because she didn’t send the criminals to jail in a body cast, like Rena Rouge?”

“At least when they’re in a body cast they can’t run away,” Alya practically snarled back. “Look, I’m not saying Ladybug never did any good for anybody. Ladybug’s important and Paris needed her. But she doesn’t know how to handle crime anymore!”

Marinette rubbed her temples. Were they seriously arguing about this? Marinette  _ knew _ how to handle crime. She did it every day for twelve years! She had more years of experience with that than some police chiefs! “Look, Alya, crime doesn’t look the same in Marseille as it does in Paris...and the solutions aren’t the same, either. People have to get out of jail eventually, and their bones heal. So Ladybug paves the way for rehabilitation. She-”

“Rehabilitation?” Alya laughed. “Merde, Marinette,  _ rehabilitation?  _ You think  _ child fuckers _ can be rehabilitated into society?”

“Ladybug’s methods are proven. She’s done this for a long time-”

“Too long!”

“-and her recidivism rate is way lower than the city’s average. You should have brought up  _that_  in your statistics, Alya. It’s like the Norway prison system…”

“No, it isn’t! Ladybug doesn’t visit prisoners and teach them how to function in the world! A pat on the back isn’t going to change somebody’s core values and emotional well-being.”

“Oh, so you think she should scare them into behaving? Is that it? Like your precious Marseille vigilante?”

“At least Rena Rouge does her job instead of...flouncing around the city.”

“Flouncing?! Since when does Ladybug ‘flounce’?” Marinette shook her head. “That isn’t even my point. My point is that you spent half your article making claims against Ladybug when you don’t even know her.”

Alya laughed darkly. “Oh, girl, I know Ladybug a lot better than you do.”

“Fat chance of that. I don’t think you’ve even talked to her! I just think that you could have interviewed Ladybug if you were going to talk smack about her.”

“I shouldn’t have to! Ladybug’s job isn’t to talk to reporters. It’s to save Paris and stop criminals and serve justice!”

“Plenty of people get interviews with her. You could have asked!”

“Don’t tell me how to do my job, Marinette.”

“You’ve been telling me how to do mine!”

“What the hell does that mean? No, I haven’t!”

Marinette steamed in her seat, unable to answer that truthfully. “Ladybug...she...she is way more than all this shit you wrote about her. Is that really how you feel about Ladybug, Alya? Honestly?”

“Marinette, if you weren’t as close to the situation, you’d see it too. She’s out of touch, she’s a public face! She isn’t who she was anymore. You’re enamored  with this idea of a hero that was great when we were kids, but she just  _ isn’t  _ now.”

“And Rena Rouge is better? God, Alya, she’s a psychopathic, violent wannabe who doesn’t have any real compassion for anyone, victim or villain, and if she did, wouldn’t know how to show it! The moment she feels  _ anything _ other than rage, she has to run away because she’s so emotionally constipated that she goes around hurting people, hiding from fans, and drinking herself into the Seine. On the surface, she’s mysterious, but there’s  _ nothing deeper _ behind it. You’re praising this cardboard, schoolgirl fantasy of a femme fatale. She’s not a hero at all. She’s a crazed, violent, broken girl in a costume!” Marinette snapped. She was shaking in frustration and anger, but she didn’t miss the hurt in Alya’s eyes. The beat of silence and drop in her shoulders.

“You...fuck...you  _ believe _ all that,” she muttered. Alya looked away, blinking fast and breathing hard. “You can’t say that about her. Rena Rouge is...she…” Alya seemed at a loss. The woman with the way with words was broken, wringing a napkin in her hand as sorrow and hurt gave way to anger and resolve on her face. “She’s more real than your precious princess Ladybug will ever be,” Alya spat. She stood up suddenly, waving her napkin and shouted into the boisterous bar, “VIVE LA RENA ROUGE!!” Alya stared down at Marinette with a clawed glare and smiled with contempt as behind her, an echo rolled over them like a wave.  _ “VIVE LA RENA ROUGE!” _

So Marinette leaped to her feet, still staring up at Alya and across the table. Quietly, she said “Vive la Ladybug,” but it sounded every word like “fuck you.” Marinette raised her voice and repeated for all in the bar to hear, “VIVE LA LADYBUG! VIVE PARIS!”

The bar cheered and echoed her call, stomping their feet. “ _ VIVE LA LADYBUG! VIVE PARIS!!” _

She loved it. She had the city on her side. She had them shouting her name. No matter how many of them had read Le Parisien today, they were Ladybug’s people. 

But Alya sneered and shook her head. “I can’t do this tonight. I’m done, Marinette. I’m going home.”

Marinette watched in triumph as Alya admitted defeat, dropping coins on the table and marching out. 

It was only when the door shut behind her and the English football fans cheered that Marinette realized...she didn’t win. The moment Alya left, they both lost. And that wasn’t what she wanted  _ at all. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1Nuit Blanche: Literally, "White night". This means "All-nighter".  
> 2Rennes vs PSG: Rennes (a city in France, in Brittany) versus PSG: Paris St-Germain (the Paris football/soccer team). I can't tell you much about this game, or this cup, or this SPORT, but Chouff'bar really did air this game on this actual day last September and the other one that you'll read about and it was apparently a very busy night there. Paris won, by the way!  
> 3 Ben oui: Kind of like "Well, duh".  
> 4 La petite mort: Literally, "the little death". This is the poetic slang for _orgasm_.  
>  5 grâce à: "Thanks to/Because of". There's a few ways to say "Because of", but this one has a built-in positive tilt. You don't say your day was ruined "grâce à" someone (unless you're being sarcastic). So for the relative to say his injuries [a bad thing] are "grâce à" Rena Rouge, he's clearly HAPPY that his relative has these injuries  
> 6 This is also true. This prison is REALLY bad. Bad enough that President Macron has visited and talked about the inhumanities there. Bad enough that prisoners have been committing protests of arson. Literally this week it was in Le Parisien again (an article on bribery and the inhumane states/corruption inside the prison)! Le Parisien printed [this article](http://www.leparisien.fr/val-de-marne-94/fresnes-coup-de-filet-apres-les-incendies-visant-les-surveillants-de-prison-10-09-2018-7882800.php)  
> about the arson attacks just 13 days before Alya's article would have been published. (If any of you...y'know...feel like reading a depressing French language article from September 2018. I don't know what y'all do with your lives.)


End file.
